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THE WORKS 



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WASHOGTON IRVING. 



AUTHOR'S EE VISED EDITION. 



VOL. XVL 
WOLFERT'S KOOST. 



NEW YORK : 

G. P. PUTNAM, 441 BEOADWAY. 

1864. 



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EXCHANGE 



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DON LUIS AND THE GRAND PRIOR 

m-iKrts SoostP14C 



WOLFERT'S ROOST 



AND 



OTHER PAPERS 



NOW FIRST COLLECTED 



WASHINGTON IRVrnG. 



AUTHOR'S EEVISED EDITION. 



NEW YOEK: 
G. P. PUTNAM, 441 BROADWAY, 

1864. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 

"Washington Irting, 

m the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
of New York. 



John F, Trow, 
Printer, Stereotyper, and Electrotyper, 

46, 4S<6 50 Greene Street, 
Between Grand & Broome, New fork. 




Wolfeet's Roost, . • • 

The Birds of Spring, . . . 

The Creole Villagb, . . • • 

mountjot, . . . • 

The Beemuda&, . . . • 

The Three Kings of Bermuda, . 
The Widow's Ordeal, . . . . 

The Knight of Malta, . . . 

The Graud Prior of Minorca, 
A Time of Unexampled Prospeeitt, . 

The Great Mississippi Bubble, . , 

Sketches in Paris in 1825. — ^The Parisian Hotel, 

My French Neighbor, 

The Englishman at Paris, 

English and French Character, . . 

The Tuileries and "Windsor Castle, 

The Field of Waterloo, 

Paris at the Restoration, . . 

A Contented Man, .... 

Bbokk: oa the Dutch Paradlsw, . . 



P»ge 

9 
30 



49 

100 
109 
116 
130 
132 
151 
154 
192 
195 
19S 
201 
205 
209 
212 
219 
226 



8 CONTENTS. 

FAg* 

Guests fboM Gibbet-Island, ..... 234 

The Eaelt Expeeienoss of Baiph Eingwood, . . . 249 

The Seminoles, ....... 289 

Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black Men, . . 294 

The Conspiracy of Neamathla, . . . 291 

The Count Van Horn, ..... 805 

Don Juan: a Spectral Eesearch, .... 322 

Legend of the Engulphed Content, . . . . . 334 

The Phantom Island, ...... 341 

The Adalantado of the Seven Cities, . • • . 844 

Beoollections of the Alhambra, .... 366 

Tho Abencerrage, . . • • 3*70 



WOLFERT'S ROOST. 



CHRONICLE I. 



About five- and- twenty miles from the ancient and renowned city 
of Manhattan, formerly called New-Amsterdam, and vulgarly 
called New- York, on the eastern bank of that expansion of the 
Hudson, known among Dutch mariners of yore, as the Tappan 
Zee, being in fact the great Mediterranean Sea of the New- 
Netherlands, stands a little old-fashioned stone mansion, all made 
up of gable-ends, and as full of angles and corners as an old 
cocked hat. It is said, in fact, to have been modelled after the 
cocked hat of Peter the Headstrong, as the Escurial was modelled 
after the gridiron of the blessed St. Lawrence. Though but of 
small dimensions, yet, like many small people, it is of mighty 
spirit, and values itself greatly on its antiquity, being one of the 
oldest edifices, for its size, in the whole country. It claims to be 
an ancient seat of empire, I may rather say an empire in itself, 
and like all empires, great and small, has had its grand historical 
epochs. In speaking of this doughty and valorous little pile, I 
shall call it by its usual appellation of " The Roost ; " though 
that is a name given to it in modern days, since it became the 
abode of the white man. 
1* 



10 



WOLFEET S KOOST. 



Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that remote region com- 
monly called the fabulous age, in which vulgar fact becomes mys* 
tified, and tinted up with delectable fiction. The eastern shore 
of the Tappan Sea was inhabited in those days by an unsophisti- 
cated race, existing in all the simplicity of nature 5 that is to say, 
they lived by hunting and fishing, and recreated themselves occa- 
sionally with a little tomahawking and scalping. Each stream 
that flows down from the hills into the Hudson, had its petty 
sachem, who ruled over a hand's breadth of forest on either side, 
and had his seat of government at its mouth. The chieftain who 
ruled at the Roost, was not merely a great warrior, but a medi- 
cine-man, or prophet, or conjurer, for they all mean the same 
thing in Indian parlance. Of his fighting propensities, evidences 
still remain, in various arrow-heads of flint, and stone battle-axes, 
occasionally digged up about the Roost : of his wizard powers, 
we have a token in a spring which wells up at the foot of the bank, 
on the very margin of the river, which, it is said, was gifted by 
him with rejuvenating powers, something like the renowned Foun- 
tain of Youth in the Floridas, so anxiously but vainly sought after 
by the veteran Ponce de Leon. This story, however, is stoutly 
contradicted by an old Dutch matter-of-fact tradition, which de- 
clares that the spring in question was smuggled over from Holland 
in a churn, by Femmetie Van Blarcom, wife of Goosen Garret 
Van Blarcom, one of the first settlers, and that she took it up by 
night, unknown to her husband, from beside their farm-house near 
Rotterdam ; being sure she should find no water equal to it in 
the new country — and she was right. 

The wizard sachem had a great passion for discussing territo- 
.al questions, and settling boundary lines, in other words, he had 



wolfert's eoost. 11 

the spirit of annexation; this kept him in continual feud with the 
neighboring sachems, each of whom stood up stoutly for his hand- 
breadth of territory; so that there is not a petty stream nor 
rugged hill in the neighborhood, that has not been the subject of 
long talks and hard battles. The sachem, however, as has been 
observed, was a medicine-man, as well as warrior, and vindicated 
his claims by arts as well as arms ; so that, by dint of a little 
hard fighting here, and hocus pocus (or diplomacy) there, he man- 
aged to extend his boundary line from field to field and stream to 
stream, until it brought him into collision with the powerful 
sachem of Sing Sing.* Many were the sharp conflicts between 
these rival chieftains for the sovereignty of a winding valley, a 
favorite hunting ground watered by a beautiful stream called the 
Pocantico. Many were the ambuscades, surprisals, and deadly 
onslaughts that took place among its fastnesses, of which it grieves 
me much that I cannot pursue the details, for the gratification of 
those gentle but bloody-minded readers, of both sexes, who 
delight in the romance of the tomahawk and scalping-knife. Suf- 
fice it to say, that the wizard chieftain was at length victorious, 
though his victory is attributed, in Indian tradition, to a great 
medicine, or charm, by which he laid the sachem of Sing-Sing 
and his warriors asleep among the rocks and recesses of the val- 
ley, where they remain asleep to the present day, with their bows 
and war-clubs beside them. This was the origin of that potent 

* A corruption of the Old Indian name, 0-sin-sing. Some have rendered 
it, 0-sin-song, or 0-sing-song ; in token of its being a great market town ; 
where any thing may be had for a mere song. Its present melodious alter- 
ation to Sing Sing is said to have been made in compliment to a Yankee sing- 
iig-masler, who taught the inhabitants the art of singing through the nose. 



12 wolfekt's koobt. 

and drowsy spell, which still prevails over the valley of the Pocan- 
tico, and which has gained it the well-merited appellation of Sleepy 
Hollow. Often, in secluded and quiet parts of that valley, where 
the stream is overhung by dark woods and rocks, the ploughman, 
on some calm and sunny day, as he shouts to his oxen, is sur 
prised at hearing faint shouts from the hill-sides in reply ; being 
it is said, the spell-bound warriors, who half start from theii- 
rocky couches and grasp their weapons, but sink to sleep again. 

The conquest of the Pocantico was the last triumph of the 
wizard sachem. Notwithstanding all his medicines and charms, 
he fell in battle, in attempting to extend his boundary line to the 
east, so as to take in the little wild valley of the Sprain, and his 
grave is still shown, near the banks of that pastoral stream. He 
left, however, a great empire to his successors, extending along 
the Tappan Sea, from Yonkers quite to Sleepy Hollow, and known 
in old records and maps by the Indian name of Wicquaes-Keck. 

The wizard Sachem was succeeded by a line of chiefs of whom 
nothing remarkable remains on record. One of them was the 
very individual on whom master Hendrick Hudson and his mate 
Robert Juet made that sage experiment gravely recorded by the 
latter, in the narrative of the discovery. 

" Our master and his mate determined to try some of the 
cheefe men of the country, whether they had any treacherie in 
them. So they took them down into the cabin, and gave them 
so much wine and aqua vitse, that they were all very merrie ; one 
of them had his wife with him, which sate so modestly as any of 
our countrywomen would do in a strange place. In the end, one 
of them was drunke ; and that was strange to them, for tliey 
could not tell how to take it."* 

- Fpf tfi et'a .J<ninial. PuicIims' Pilgrams, 



wolfeet's roost. 13 

How far master Hendrick Hudson and his worthy mate car- 
ried their experiment with the sachem's wife, is not recorded, nei- 
ther does the curious Robert Juet make any mention of the after 
consequences of this grand moral test ; tradition, however, affirms 
that the sachem, on lauding, gave his modest spouse a hearty rib- 
roasting, according to tho connubial discipline of the aboriginals ; 
it farther affirms, that he remained a hard drinker to the day of - 
his death, trading away all his lands, acre by acre, for aqua vitas ; 
by which means the Roost and all its domains, from Yonkers to 
Sleepy Hollow, came, in the regular course of trade, and by right 
of purchase, into the possession of the Dutchmen. 

The worthy government of the New Netherlands was not suf- 
fered to enjoy this grand acquisition unmolested. In the year 
1654, the losel Yankees of Connecticut, those swapping, bargain- 
ing, squatting enemies of the Manhattoes, made a daring inroad 
into this neighborhood, and founded a colony called Westchester, 
or, as the ancitnt Dutch records term it, Yest Dorp, in the right 
of one Thomas Pell, who pretended to have purchased the whole 
surrounding country of the Indians ; and stood ready to argue 
their claims before any tribunal of Christendom. 

This happened during the chivalrous reign of Peter Stuyve- 
sant, and roused the ire of that gunpowder old hero. Without 
waiting to discuss claims and titles, he pounced at once upon the 
nest of nefarious squatters, carried off twenty-five of them in 
chains to the Manhattoes, nor did he stay his hand, nor give rest 
to his wooden leg, until he had driven the rest of the Yankees 
back into Connecticut, or obliged them to acknowledge allegiance 
to their High Mightinesses. In revenge, however, they intro- 
duced the plague of witchcraft into the province. This doleful 



14 wolfert's eoost. 

malady broke out at Vest Dorp, and would have spread through- 
out the country had not the Dutch farmers nailed horse-shoes to 
the doors of their houses and barns, sure protections against 
witchcraft, many of which remain to the present day. 

The seat of empire of the wizard sachem now came into the 
possession of Wolfert Acker, one of the privy counsellors of 
Peter Stuyvesant. He was a worthy, but ill-starred man, whose 
aim through life had been to live in peace and quiet. For this he 
had emigrated from Holland, driven abroad by family feuds and 
wrangling neighbors. He had warred for quiet through the fidg- 
etting reign of William the Testy, and the fighting reign of Peter 
the Headstrong, sharing in every brawl and rib-roasting, in his 
eagerness to keep the peace and promote public tranquillity. It 
was his doom, in fact, to meet a head wind at every turn, and be 
kept in a constant fume and fret by the perverseness of mankind 
Had he served on a modern jury he would have been sure to have 
eleven unreasonable men opposed to him. 

At the time when the province of the New Netherlands was 
wrested from the domination of their High Mightinesses by the 
combined forces of Old and New England, Wolfert retired in 
high dudgeon to this fastness in the wilderness, with the bitter de- 
termination to bury himself from the world, and live here for the 
rest of his days in peace and quiet. In token of that fixed pur- 
pose he inscribed over his door (his teeth clenched at the time) 
his favorite Dutch motto, " Lust in Rust," (pleasure in quiet). The 
mansion was thence called Wolfert's Rust — (Wolfert's Rest), but 
by the uneducated, who did not understand Dutch, Wolfert's 
Roost ; probably from its quaint cock-loft look, and from its hav- 
ing a weather-cock perched on every gable. 



wolfeet's boost. 15 

Wolfert's luck followed him into retirement. He had shut 
himself up from the world, but he had brought with him a wife, 
and it soon passed into a proverb throughout the neighborhood 
that the cock of the Roost was the most henpecked bird in the 
country. His house too was reputed to be harassed by Yankee 
witchcraft. When the weather was quiet every where else, the 
wind, it was said, would howl and whistle about the gables ; witches 
and warlocks would whirl about upon the weather-cocks, and 
scream down the chimneys ; nay it was even hinted that Wol- 
fert's wife was in league with the enemy, and used to ride on a 
broomstick to a witches' sabbath in Sleepy Hollow. This, how- 
ever, was all mere scandal, founded perhaps on her occasionally 
flourishing a broomstick in the course of a curtain lecture, or rais- 
ing a storm within doors, as termagant wives are apt to do, 
and against which sorcery horse shoes are of no avail. 

Wolfert Acker died and was buried, but found no quiet even 
in the grave : for if popular gossip be true, his ghost has occa- 
sionally been seen walking by moonlight among the old gray moss- 
grown trees of his apple orchard. 



CHRONICLK II, 

The next period at which we find this venerable and eventful 
pile rising into importance, was during the dark and troublous 
time of the revolutionary war. It was the keep or stronghold of 
Jacob Van Tassel, a valiant Dutchman of the old stock of Van 
Tassels, who abound in Westchester County. The name, as 
originally written, was Van Texel, being derived from the Texel 
in Holland, which gave birth to that heroic line. 



16 WOLrERt''s ROOST. 

The Roost stood in the very heart of what at that time was 
called the debatable ground, lying between the British and Amer- 
ican lines. The British held possession of the city and island of 
New York ; while the Americans drew up towards the Highlands, 
holding their head-quarters at Peekskill. The intervening coun- 
try from Croton Biver to Spiting Devil Creek was the debatable 
ground in question, liable to be harried by friend and foe, like 
the Scottish borders of yore. 

It is a rugged region ; full of fastnesses. A line of rocky 
hills extends through it like a backbone, sending out ribs on 
either side ; but these rude hills are for the most part richly 
wooded, and inclose little fresh pastoral valleys watered by the 
Neperan, the Pocantico,* and other beautiful streams, along which 
the Indians built their wigwams in the olden time. 

In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these valleys ex- 
isted, in the time of which I am treating, and indeed exist to the 
present day, a race of hard-headed, hard-handed, stout-hearted yeC/- 
men, descendants of the primitive Nederlanders. Men obstinately 
attached to the soil, and neither to be fought nor bought out of 

* The Neperan, vulgarly called the Saw-Mill River, winds for many 
miles througli a lovely valley, shrouded by groves, and dotted by Dutch 
farm-houses, and empties itself into the Hudson, at the ancient Dorp 
of Yonkers. The Pocantico, rising among woody hillS;, winds in many a 
wizard maze, through the sequestered haunts of Sleepy Hollow. We owe 
it to the indefatigable researches of Mr. Knickerbocker, that those beauti- 
ful streams are rescued from modern common-place, and reinvested with 
their ancient Indian names. The correctness of the venerable historian 
may be ascertained by reference to the records of the original Indian grants 
to the Herr Frederick Philipsen, preserved in the county clerk's office, at 
White Plains 



wolfeet's eoost. 17 

their paternal acres. Most of them were strong Whigs through- 
out the war ; some, however, were Tories, or adherents to the old 
kingly rule ; who considered the revolution a mere rebellion, soon 
to he put down by his majesty's forces. A number of these took 
refuge within the British lines, joined the military bands of refu- 
gees, and became pioneers or leaders to foraging parties sent out 
from New York to scour the country and sweep off supplies for 
the British army. 

In a little while the debatable ground became infested by 
roving bands, claiming from either side, and all pretending to 
redress wrongs and punish political offences ; but all prone in the 
exercise of their high functions, to sack hen-roosts, drive off cattle, 
and lay farm-houses imder contribution : such was the origin of 
two great orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the Cow 
Boys, famous in revolutionary story ; the former fought, or rather 
marauded under the American, the latter under the British 
banner. In the zeal of service, both were apt to make blunders, 
and confound the property of friend and foe. Neither of them in 
the heat and hurry of a foray had time to ascertain the politics 
of a horse or cow, which they were driving off into captivity ; nor, 
when they wrung the neck of a rooster, did they trouble their 
heads whether he crowed for Congress or King George. 

To check these enormities, a confederacy was formed among 
the yeomanry who had suffered from these maraudings. It was 
composed for the most part of farmers' sons, bold, hard-riding 
lads, well armed, and well mounted, and undertook to clear the 
country round of Skinner and Cow Boy, and all other border ver- 
min ; as the Holy Brotherhood in old times cleared Spain of the 
banditti which infested her highways. 



18 wolfeet's koost. 

Wolfert's Roost wis one of the rallying places of this confed 
eracy, and Jacob Van Tassel one of its members. He was emi- ' 
nently fitted for the service : stout of frame, bold of heart, and like 
his predecessor, the warrior sachem of yore, delighting in daring 
enterprises. He had an Indian's sagacity in discovering when, the 
enemy was on the maraud, and in hearing the distant tramp of 
cattle. It seemed as if he had a scout on every hill, and an ear 
as quick as that of Fine Ear in the fairy tale. 

The foraging parties of tories and refugees had now to be se- 
cret and sudden in their forays into Westchester County ; to make 
a hasty maraud among the farms, sweep the cattle into a drove, 
and hurry down to the lines along the river road, or the valley of 
the Neperan. Before they were half way down, Jacob Van Tassel, 
with the holy brotherhood of Tarrytown, Petticoat Lane, and 
Sleepy Hollow, would be clattering at their heels. And now 
there would be a general scamper for King's Bridge, the pass 
over Spiting Devil Creek into the British lines. Sometimes the 
moss-troopers would be overtaken, and eased of part of their 
booty. Sometimes the whole cavalgada would urge its headlong 
course across the bridge with thimdering tramp and dusty whirl- 
wind. At such times their pursuers would rein up their steeds, 
survey that perilous pass with wary eye and, wheeling about, in- 
demnify themselves by foraging the refugee region of Morrisania. 

While the debatable land was liable to be thus harried, the 
great Tappan Sea, along which it extends, was likewise domineered 
over by the foe. British ships of war were anchored here and 
there in the wide expanses of the river, mere floating castles to 
hold it in subjection. Stout galleys armed with eighteen pound- 
ers, and navigated with sails and oars, cruised about like hawks; 



wolfeet's boost. 19 

while row-boats made descents upon the land, and foraged the 
country along shore. 

It was a sore grievance to the yeomanry along the Tappan Sea 
to behold that little Mediterranean ploughed by hostile prows, 
and the noble river of which they were so proud, reduced to a 
state of thraldom. Councils of war were held by captains of 
market-boats and other river craft, to devise ways and means of 
dislodging the enemy. Here and there on a point of land ex- 
tending into the Tappan Sea, a mud work would be thrown up, 
and an old field-piece mounted, with which a knot of rustic artil- 
lerymen would fire away for a long summer's day at some frigate 
dozing at anchor far out of reach ; and reliques of such works 
may still be seen overgrown with weeds and brambles, with perad- 
venture the half-buried fragment of a cannon which may have 
burst. 

Jacob Van Tassel was a prominent man in these belligerent 
operations ; but he was prone moroever, to carry on a petty war- 
fare of his own for his individual recreation and refreshment. On 
a row of hooks above the fireplace of the Roost, reposed his great 
piece of ordnance ; a duck, or rather goose gun of unparalleled 
longitude, with which it was said he could kill a wild goose half 
way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed there are as many wonders 
told of this renowned gun, as of the enchanted weapons of clas- 
sic story. When the belligerent feeling was strong upon Jacob, 
he would take down his gun, sally forth alone, and prowl along 
shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, watching for hours together 
any ship or galley at anchor or becalmed ; as a valorous mouser 
will watch a rat hole. So sure as a boat approached the shore, 
bang ! went the great goose gun, sending on board a shower of 



20 wolfeet's eoost 

slugs and buck shot ; and away scuttled Jacob Van Tassel through 
some woody ravine. As the Roost stood in a lonely situation, 
and might be attacked, he guarded against surprise by making 
loop-holes in the stone walls, through which to fire upon an as- 
sailant. His wife was stout-hearted as himself, and could load 
as fast as he could fire, and his sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, a re- 
doubtable widow, was a match, as he said, for the stoutest man in 
the country. Thus garrisoned, his little castle was fitted to stand 
a siege, and Jacob was the man to defend it to the last charge of 
powder. 

In the process of time the Koost became one of the secret 
stations, or lurking places, of the "Water Guard. This was an 
aquatic corps in the pay of government, organized to range the 
waters of the Hudson, and keep watch upon the movements of the 
enemy. It was composed of nautical men of the river and hardy 
youngsters of the adjacent country, expert at pulling an oar or 
handling a musket. They were provided with whale-boats, long 
and sharp, shaped like canoes, and formed to lie lightly on the 
water, and be rowed with great rapidity. In these they would 
lurk out of sight by day, in nooks and bays, and behind points of 
land ; keeping a sharp look-out upon the British ships, and giving 
intelligence to head quarters of any extraordinary movement. At 
night they rowed about in pairs, pulling quietly along with muf- 
fled oars, under shadow of the land, or gliding like spectres 
about frigates and guard ships to cut off any boat that might be 
sent to shore. In this way they were a source of constant un- 
easiness and alarm to the enemy. 

The Roost, as has been observed, was one of their lurking 
places ; having a cove in front where their whale-boats could be 



wolfeet's eoost. 21 

drawn up out of sight, and Jacob Van Tassel being a vigilant ally , 
ready to take a part in any "scout or scrummage" by land or 
water. At tbis little warrior nest the hard-riding lads from the 
hills would hold consultations with the chivalry of the river, and 
here were concerted divers of those daring enterprises which re- 
sounded from Spiting Devil Creek even unto Anthony's Nose. 
Here was concocted the midnight invasion of New York Island, 
and the conflagration of Delancy's Tory mansion, which makes 
such a blaze in revolutionary history. Nay more, if the tradi- 
tions of the Roost may be credited, here was meditated by Jacob 
Van Tassel and his compeers, a nocturnal foray into New York it- 
self, to surprise and carry off the British commanders Howe and 
Clinton, and put a triumphant close to the war. 

There is no knowing whether this notable scheme might not have 
been carried into effect, had not one of Jacob Van Tassel's egre- 
gious exploits along shore with his goose-gun, with which he thought 
himself a match for any thing, brought vengeance on his house. 

It so happened, that in the course of one of his solitary prowls 
he descried a British transport aground; the stern swung toward 
shore within point-blank shot. The temptation was too great to 
be resisted. Bang ! went the great goose-gun, from the covert 
of the trees, shivering the cabin windows and driving all hands 
forward. Bang! bang! the shots were repeated. The re- 
ports brought other of Jacob's fellow bush-fighters to the spot. 
Before the transport could bring a gun to bear, or land a boat 
to take revenge, she was soundly peppered, and the coast evac- 
uated. 

This was the last of Jacob's triumphs. He fared like some 
heroic spider that has unwittingly ensnared a hornet to the utter 



22; wolfeet's boost. 

ruin of his web. It was not long after the above exploit that he 
fell into the hands of the enemy in the course of one of his forays, 
and was carried away prisoner to New York. The Roost itself, 
as a pestilent rebel nest, was marked out for signal punishment. 
The cock of the Roost being captive, there was none to garrison 
it but his stout-hearted spouse, his redoubtable sister, Nochie 
Van Wurmer, and Dinah, a strapping negro wench. An armed 
vessel came to anchor in front ; a boat full of men pulled to 
shore. The garrison flew to arms ; that is to say, to mops, broom- 
sticks, shovels, tongs, and all kinds of domestic weapons ; for un- 
luckily, the great piece of ordnance, the gOose-gun, was absent 
with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence was made with 
that most potent of female weapons, the tongue. Never did 
invaded hen-roost make a more vociferous outcry. It was all 
in vain. The house was sacked and plundered, fire was set to 
each corner, and in a few moments its blaze shed a baleful light 
far over the Tappan Sea. The invaders then pounced upon the 
blooming Laney Van Tassel, the beauty of the Roost, and endea- 
vored to bear her off to the boat. But here was the real tug of 
war. The mother, the aunt, and the strapping negro wench, all 
flew to the rescue. The struggle continued down to the very 
water's edge ; when a voice from the armed vessel at anchor, or- 
dered the spoilers to desist; they relinquished their prize, 
jumped into their boats, and pulled off, and the heroine of the 
Roost escaped with a mere rumpling of the feathers. 

As to the stout Jacob himself, he was detained a prisoner in 
New York for the greater part of the war ; in the mean time the 
Roost remained a melancholy ruin, its stone walls and brick chim- 
neys alone standing, the resorts of bats and owls. Superstitious no- 



wolfekt's boost. 23 

tions prevailed about it. None of the country people would ven- 
ture alone at night down the rambling lane which led to it, over- 
hung with trees and crossed here and there by a wild wandering 
brook. The story went that one of the victims of Jacob Van Tas- 
sel's great goose-gun had been buried there in unconsecrated 
ground. - 

Even the Tappan Sea in front was said to be haunted. Often 
in the still twilight of a summer evening, when the Sea would be 
as glass, and the opposite hills would throw their purple shadows 
half across it, a low sound would be heard as of the steady vigor- 
ous pull of oars, though not a boat was to be descried. Some 
might have supposed that a boat was rowed along unseen under 
the deep shadows of the opposite shores; but the ancient tradi- 
tionists of the neighborhood knew better. Some said it was one 
of the whale-boats of the old water-guard, sunk by the British 
ships during the war, but now permitted to haunt its old cruising 
grounds ; but the prevalent opinion connected it with the awful 
fate of Rambout Van Dam of graceless memory. He was a roys- 
tering Dutchman of Spiting Devil, who in times long past had 
navigated his boat alone one Saturday the whole length of the 
Tappan Sea, to attend a quilting frolic at Kakiat, on the western 
shore. Here he had danced, and drunk, until midnight, when he 
entered his boat to return home. He was warned that he was on 
the verge of Sunday morning; but he pulled off nevertheless, 
swearing he would not land until he reached Spiting Devil, if it 
took him a month of Sundays. He was never seen afterwards ; 
but may be heard plying his oars, as above mentioned, being the 
Flying Dutchman of the Tappan Sea, doomed to ply between Ka- 
kiat and Spiting Devil until the day of judgment. 



24 wolfekt's koost. 

CHRONICLE III. 

The revolutionary war was over. The debatable ground had 
once more become a quiet agricultural region ; the border chivalry 
had turned their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into 
pruning hooks, and hung up their guns, only to be taken down 
occasionally in a campaign against wild pigeons on the hills, or wild 
ducks upon the Hudson. Jacob Van Tassel, whilome carried 
captive to New York, a flagitious rebel, had come forth from cap- 
tivity a " hero of seventy-six." In a little while he sought the 
scenes of his former triumphs and mishaps, rebuilt the Roost, re- 
stored his goose-gun to the hooks over the fireplace, and reared 
once more on high the glittering weathercocks. 

Years and years passed over the time-honored little mansion. 
The honeysuckle and the sweetbrier crept up its walls ; the wren 
and the phcebe bird built under the eaves ; it gradually became 
almost hidden among trees, through which it looked forth, as with 
half-shut eyes, upon the Tappan Sea. The Indian spring, famous in 
the days of the wizard sachem, still welled up at the bottom of 
the green bank ; and the wild brook, wild as ever, came babbling 
down the ravine, and threw itself into the little cove where of 
yore the water-guard harbored their whaleboats. 

Such was the state of the Roost many years since, at the 
time when Diedrich Knickerbocker came into this neighborhood, 
in the course of his researches among, the Dutch families for ma- 
terials for his immortal history. The exterior of the eventful 
little pile seemed to him full of promise. The crow-step gables 
were of the primitive architecture of the province. The weather- 
cocks which surmounted them had crowed in the glorious days of 



wolfekt's koost. 25 

the New Netherlands. The one above the porch had actually 
glittered of yore on the great Vander Heyden palace at Albany ' 

The interior of the mansion fulfilled its external promise. 
Here were records of old times ; documents of the Dutch dynas- 
tyj rescued from the profane hands of the English, by Wolfert 
Acker, when he retreated frOm New Amsterdam. Here he had 
treasured them up like buried gold, and here they had been mi- 
raculously preserved by St. Nicholas, at the time of the conflagra- 
tion of the Roost. 

Here then did old Diedrich Knickerbocker take up his abode 
for a time, and set to work with antiquarian zeal to decipher these 
precious documents, which, like the lost books of Livy, had baf- 
fled the research of former historians ; and it is the facts drawn 
from these sources which give his work the preference, in point 
of accuracy, over every other history. 

It was during his sojourn in this eventful neighborhood, that 
the historian is supposed to have picked up many of those le- 
gends, which have since been given by him to the world, or found 
among his papers. Such was the legend connected with the old 
Dutch church of Sleepy Hollow. The church itself was a monu- 
ment of bygone days. It had been built in the early times of 
the province. A tablet over the portal bore the names of its 
founders : Frederick Filipson, a mighty man of yore, patroon 
of Yonkers, and his wife Katrina Van Courtland, of the Van 
Courtlands of Croton ; a powerful family connexion, with one foot 
resting on Spiting Devil Creek, and the other on the Croton River. 

Two weathercocks, with the initials of these illustrious per- 
sonages, graced each end of the church, one perched over the bel- 
fry, the other over the chancel. As usual with ecclesiastical 



26 wolfeet's eoost. 

w^eathercocks, each poiaated a different way ; and there was a per- 
petual contradiction between them on all points of windy doc- 
trine ; emblematic, alas ! of the Christian propensity to schism 
and controversy. 

In the burying-ground adjacent to the church, reposed the 
earliest fathers of a wide rural neighborhood. Here families 
were garnered together, side by side, in long platoons, in this last 
gathering place of kindred. With pious hand would Diedrich 
Knickerbocker turn down the weeds and brambles which had 
overgrown the tombstones, to decipher inscriptions in Dutch and 
English, of the names and virtues of succeeding generations of 
Van Tassels, Van Warts, and other historical worthies, with 
their portraitures faithfully carved, all bearing the family likeness 
to cherubs. 

The congregation in those days was of a truly rural character. 
City fashions had not as yet stole up to Sleepy Hollow. Dutch 
sun-bonnets and honest homespun still prevailed. Every thing 
was in primitive style, even to the bucket of water and tin cup 
near the door in summer, to assuage the thirst caused by the heat 
of the weather or the drouth of the sermon. 

The pulpit, with its wide-spreading sounding board, and the 
communion table, curiously carved, had each come from Holland 
in the olden time, before the arts had sufficiently advanced in the 
colony for such achievements. Around these on Sundays would 
be gathered the elders of the church, gray-headed men who led 
the psalmody, and in whom it would be difficult to recognize the 
hard-riding lads of yore, who scoured the debatable land in the 
time of the revolution. 

The drowsy influence of Sleepy Hollow was apt to breathe 



wolfekt's koost. 27 

into this sacred edifice ; and now and then an elder might be 
seen with his handkerchief over his face to keep off the flies, and 
apparently listening to the dominie ; but really sunk into a sum- 
mer slumber, lulled by the sultry notes of the locust from the 
neio-hborino; trees. 

And now a word or two about Sleepy Hollow, which many 
have rashly deemed a fanciful creation, like the Lubberland of 
mariners. It was probably the mystic and dreamy sound of the 
name which first tempted the historian of the Manhattoes into its 
spellbound mazes. As he entered, all nature seemed for the 
moment to awake from its slumbers and break forth in gratula- 
tions. The quail whistled a welcome from the eoru field ; the 
loquacious cat-bird flew from bush to bush with restless wing pro- 
claiming his approach, or perked inquisitively into his face, as if 
to get a knowledge of his physiognomy. The woodpecker tapped 
a tattoo on the hollow apple tree, and then peered round the 
trunk, as if asking how he relished the salutation ; while the 
squirrel scampered along the fence, whisking his tail over his head 
by way of a huzza. 

Here reigned the golden mean extolled by poets, in which no 
gold was to be found and very little silver. The inhabitants of 
the Hollow were of the primitive stock, and had intermarried and 
bred in and in, from the earliest time of the province, never 
swarming far from the parent hive, but dividing and subdividing 
their paternal acres as they swarmed. 

Here were small farms, each having its little portion of mea- 
dow and corn field ; its orchard of gnarled and sprawling apple 
trees ; its garden in which the rose, the marigold and hollyhock, 
grew sociably with the cabbage, the pea, and the pumpkin : each 



28 wolfkrt's koost. 

had its low-eaved mansion redundant with white-headed children ; 
with an old hat nailed against the wall for the housekeeping wren , 
the coop on the grass-plot, where the motherly hen clucked round 
with her vagrant brood : each had its stone well, with a moss- 
covered bucket suspended to the long balancing pole, according to 
antediluvian hydraulics ; while within doors resounded the eternal 
hum of the spinning wheel. 

Many were the great historical facts which the worthy Died- 
rich collected in these lowly mansions, and patiently would he sit 
by the old Dutch housewives with a child on his knee, or a purr- 
ing grimalkin on his lap, listing to endless gbost stories spun 
forth to the humming accompaniment of the wheel. 

The delighted bistorian pursued his explorations far into the 
foldings of the hills where the Pocantico winds its wizard stream 
among the mazes of its old Indian haunts ; sometimes running 
darkly in pieces of woodland beneath balancing sprays of beech 
and chestnut: sometimes sparkling between grassy borders in 
fresh green intervals ; here and there receiving the tributes of 
silver rills which came whimpering down the hill sides from their 
parent springs. 

In a remote part of the Hollow, where the Pocantico forced 
its way down rugged rocks, stood Carl's mill, the haunted house 
of the neighborhood. It was indeed a goblin-looking pile ; shat- 
tered and time-worn; dismal with clanking wheels and rush- 
ing streams, and all kinds of uncouth noises. A horse shoe 
nailed to the door to keep off witches, seemed to have lost its 
power ; for as Diedrich approached, an old negro thrust his head 
all dabbled with flour, out of a hole above the water wheel, and 
grinned and rolled his eyes, and appeared to be the very hobgob- 



wolp^ert's koost. 29 

lin of the place. Yet this proved to be the great historic genius 
of the Hollow, abounding in that valuable information never to 
be acquired from books. Diedrich Knickerbocker soon discover- 
ed his merit. They had long talks together seated on a broken 
millstone, heedless of the water and the clatter of the mill ; and 
to his conference with that African sage, many attribute the sur- 
prising, though true story of Ichabod Crane, and the Headless 
Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. We refrain, however, from giving 
farther researches of the historian of the Manhattoes, during his 
sojourn at the Roost ; but may return to them in future pages. 

Reader, the Roost still exists. Time, which changes all 
things, is slow in its operations on a Dutchman's dwelling. The 
stout Jacob Van Tassel, it is true, sleeps with his fathers ; and 
his great goose-gun with him : yet his strong-hold still bears the 
impress of its Dutch origin. Odd rumors have gathered about 
it, as they are apt to do about old mansions, like moss and wea- 
ther stains. The shade of Wolfert Acker still walks his unquiet 
rounds at night in the orchard ; and a white figure has now and 
then been seen seated at a window and gazing at the moon, 
from a room in which a young lady is said to have died of love 
and green apples. 

Mementoes of the sojourn of Diedrich Knickerbocker are 
still cherished at the Roost. His elbow chair and antique writ- 
ing-desk maintain their place in the room he occupied, and his 
old cocked hat still hangs on a peg against the wall. 



THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 

My quiet residence in the country, aloof from fashion, politics, 
and the money market, leaves me rather at a loss for occupation, 
and drives me occasionally to the study of nature, and other low 
pursuits. Having few neighbors, also, on whom to keep a watch, 
and exercise my habits of observation, I am fain to amuse myself 
with prying into the domestic concerns and peculiarities of the 
animals around me; and, during the present season, have derived 
considerable entertainment from certain sociable little birds, al- 
most the only visitors we have, during this early part of the year. 
Those who have passed the winter in the coimtry, are sensible 
of the delightful influences that accompany the earliest indicationa 
of spring ; and of these, none are more delightful than the first 
notes of the birds. There is one modest little sad-colored bird, 
much resembling a wren, which came about the house just on the 
skirts of winter, when not a blade of grass was to be seen, and 
when a few prematurely warm days had given a flattering foretaste 
of soft weather. He sang early in the dawning, long before sun 
rise, and late in the evening, just before the closing in of night, 



THE BIKDS OF SPRING. 31 

his matin and his vesper hymns. It is true, he sang occasionally 
throughout the day; but at these still hours, his song was more 
remarked. He sat on a leafless tree, just before the window, and 
warbled forth his notes, few and simple, but singularly sweet, with 
something of a plaintive tone, that heightened their effect. 

The first morning that he was heard, was a joyous one among 
the young folks of my household. The long, death-like sleep of, 
winter was at an end ; nature was once more awakening; they now 
promised themselves the immediate appearance of buds and blos- 
soms. I was reminded of the tempest-tossed crew of Columbus, 
when, after their long dubious voyage, the field birds came singing 
round the ship, though still far at sea, rejoicing them with the be- 
lief of the immediate proximity of land. A sharp return of winter 
almost silenced my little songster, and dashed the hilarity of the 
household ; yet still he poured forth, now and then, a few plaintive 
notes, between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like gleams of sun- 
shine between wintry clouds. 

I have consulted my book of ornithology in vain, to find out 
the name of this kindly little bird, who certainly deserves honor 
and favor far beyond his modest pretensions. He comes like the 
lowly violet, the most unpretending, but welcomest of flowers, 
breathing the sweet promise of the early year. 

Another of our feathered visitors, who follow close upon the 
steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or Pe-wee, or Phoebe-bird; for ho 
is called by each of these names, from a fancied resemblance to 
the sound of his monotonous note. He is a sociable little being, 
and seeks the habitation of man. A pair of them have built be 
neath my porch, and have reared several broods there, for tw • 
years past, their nest being never disturbed. They arrive early 



32 THE BIRDS OF SPEING. 

in the spring, just when the crocus and the snow-drop begin to 
peep forth. Their first chirp spreads gladness through the house. 
**' The Phoebe birds have come ! " is heard on all sides ; they are 
welcomed back like members of the family ; and speculations are 
made upon where they have been, and what countries they have 
seen, during their long absence. Their arrival is the more cheer- 
ing, as it is pronounced, by the old weather-wise people of the 
country, the sure sign that the severe frosts are at an end, and 
that the gardener may resume his labors with confidence. 

About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so poetically yet 
truly described by Wilson. His appearance gladdens the whole 
landscape. You hear his soft warble in every field. He sociably 
approaches your habitation, and takes up his residence in your 
vicinity. But why should I attempt to describe him, when I have 
Wilson's own graphic verses, to place him before the reader ? 

When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 

Green meadows and brown furrowed fields reappearing, 
The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore, 

And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering ; 
"When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing, 

When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing^ 
O then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring. 

And hails with his warblings the charms of the season. 

The loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring; 

Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm grows the weather- 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 

And spice-wood and sassafras budding together ; 
then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair, 

your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure * 



THE BIEDS OF SPEING. 33 

The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air, 
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure 1 

He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree. 

The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossoms ; 
He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be, 

And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms ; 
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours. 

The worms from the webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours, 

And aU that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 

Tlie ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train. 

Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him ; 
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple strain. 

And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him. 
The slow lingering school-boys forget they'll be chid. 

While gazing intent, as he warbles before them. 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red. 

That each little loiterer seems to adore him. 

The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one that rivals 
the European lark in my estimation, is the Boblincon, or Boblink. 
as he is commonly called. He arrives at that choice portion of 
our year, which, in this latitude, answers to the description of the 
month of May, so often given by the poets. With us, it begins 
about the middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle of J une. 
Earlier than this, winter is apt to return on its traces, and to 
blight the opening beauties of the year ; and later than this, begin 
the parching, and panting, and dissolving heats of summer. But 
in this genial interval, nature is in all her freshness and fragrance 

2* 



34 THE BIRDS OF SPEING. 

" the rains are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the earth, 
the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the tur- 
tle is heard in the land." The trees are now in their fullest 
foliage and brightest verdure ; the woods are gay with the clus- 
tered flowers of the laurel; the air is perfumed by the sweet-brier 
and the wild rose ; the meadows are enamelled with clover-blos- 
soms ; while the young apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to 
swell, and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. 

This is the chosen season of revelry of the Boblink. He 
comes amidst the pomp and fragrance of the season ; his life 
seems all sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He 
is to be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and sweetest 
meadows ; and is most m song, when the clover is in blossom. 
He perches on the topmost twig of a tree, or on some long flaunt- 
ing weed, and as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours forth a 
succession of rich tinkling notes; crowding one upon another, 
like the outpouring melody of the skylark, and possessing the 
same rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches from the sum- 
mit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets upon the wing, 
and flutters tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome with 
ecstasy at his own music Sometimes he is in pursuit of his 
paramour • always in full song, as if he would win her by his 
melody ; and always with the same appearance of intoxication and 
delight. 

Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, the Boblink was 
the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the sweetest 
weather, and the sweetest season of the year, when all nature 
called to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in every bosom ; 
but when I, luckless urchin ! was doomed to be mewed up, during 



THE BIRDS OF SPEING. 35 

the liveloBg day, in that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room. Ii 
Beemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, as he flew by in full 
song, and sought to taunt me with his happier lot. Oh, how I 
envied him ! No lessons, no task, no hateful school ; nothing but 
holiday, frolic, green fields, and fine weather. Had I been then 
more versed in poetry, I might have addressed him in the words 
of Logan to the cuckoo : 

Sweet bii'd ! thy bower is ever green, 

Thy sky is ever clear 
Thou hast no sorrow lu thy note, 

No winter in thy year. 

Oh I could I fly, I'd fly with thee; 

"We'd make, on joyful wing, 
Our annual visit round the globe. 

Companions of the spring ! 

Further observation and experience have given me a different 
idea of this little feathered voluptuary, which I will venture to 
impart, for the benefit of my schoolboy readers, who may regard 
him with the same unqualified envy and admiration which I once 
indulged. I have shown him only as I saw him at first, in what 
I may call the poetical part of his career, when he in a manner 
devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, and was a 
bird of music, and song, and taste, and sensibility, and refinement. 
While this lasted, he was sacred from injury ; the very schoolboy 
would not fling a stone at him, and the merest rustic would pause 
to listen to his strain. But mark the difference. As the year 
advances, as the clover blossoms disappear, and the spring fade? 



36 THE BIKDS OF SPEING. 

into summer, he gradually gives up his elegant tastes and habits , 
doffs his poetical suit of black, assumes a russet dusty garb, and 
sinks to the gross enjoyments of common vulgar birds. His 
notes no longer vibrate on the ear ; he is stufl&ng himself with the 
seeds of the tall weeds on which he lately swung and chanted so 
melodiously. He has become a " bon vivant," a " gourmand ; " 
with him now there is nothing like the "joys of the table." In a 
little while he grows tired of plain homely fare, and is off on a 
gastronomical tour in quest of foreign luxuries. We next hear 
of him with myriads of his kind, banqueting among the reeds of 
the Delaware ; and grown corpulent with good feeding. He has 
changed his name in travelling. Boblincon no more — he is the 
Eeed-bird now, the much sought for titbit of Pennsylvania epi- 
cures ; the rival in unlucky fame of the ortolan ! V/herever he 
goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! every rusty firelock in the country is blaz- 
ing away. He sees his companions falling by thousands around 
him. 

Does he take warning and reform ? — Alas not he ! Incor- 
rigible epicure ! again he wings his flight. The rice swamps of 
the south invite him. He gorges himself among them almost to 
bursting ; he can scarcely fly for corpulency. He has once more 
changed his name, and is now the famous Bice-hird of the Caro- 
linas. 

Last stage of his career ; behold him spitted with dozens of 
his corpulent companions, and served up, a vaunted dish, on the 
table of some Southern gastronome. 

Such is the story of the Boblink ; once spiritual, musical, 
admired, the joy of the meadows, and the favorite bird of spring ; 
finally, a gross little sensualist who expiates his sensuality in the 



THE BIEDS OF SPEING. S7 

larder, llis story contains a moral, worthy the attention of all 
little birds and little boys ; warning them to keep to those refined 
and intellectual pursuits, which raised him to so high a pitch of 
popularity during the early part of his career ; but to eschew 
all tendency to that gross and dissipated indulgence, which brought 
this mistaken little bird to an untimely end. 

Which is all at present, from the well-wisher of little boys and 
little birds, 



TliK CREOLE VILLAGE. 

A SKETCH FROM A STEAMBOAT. 

First published in 1837. 

In tra-vclliug aibout our motley country, I am often reminded of 
Ariosto's account of the moon, in which the good paladin Astolpho 
found every thing garnered up that had been lost on earth. So 
I am apt to imagine, that many things lost in the old world, are 
treasured up in the new ; having been handed down from genera- 
tion to generation, since the early days of the colonies. A 
European antiquary, therefore, curious in his researches after the 
ancient and almost obliterated customs and usages of his coun 
try, would do well to put himself upon the track of some early 
band of emigrants, follow them across the Atlantic, and rummage 
among their descendants on our shores. 

In the phraseology of New England might be found many an 
old English provincial phrase, long since obsolete in the parent 
country ; with some quaint relics of the roundheads ; while Vir- 
ginia cherishes peculiarities characteristic of the days of Elizabeth 
and Sir Walter Raleigh. 



THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 39 

In the same way, the sturdy yeomanry of New Jersey and 
Pennsylvania keep up many usages fading away in ancient Ger- 
many ; while many an honest, broad-bottomed custom, nearly ex- 
tinct in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing in pristine 
vigor and luxuriance in Dutch villages, on the banks of the Mo- 
hawk and the Hudson. 

In no part of our country, however, are the customs and pe- 
culiarities, imported from the old world by the earlier settlers, 
kept up with more fidelity than in the little, poverty-stricken vil 
lages of Spanish and French origin, which border the rivers of 
ancient Louisiana. Their population is generally made up of the 
descendants of those nations, married and interwoven together, 
sind occasionally crossed with a slight dash of the Indian. The 
French character, however, floats on top, as, from its buoyant 
qualities, it is sure to do, whenever it forms a particle, however 
small, of an intermixture. 

In these serene and dilapidated villages, art and nature stand 
still, and the world forgets to turn round. The revolutions that dis- 
tract other parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, or pass over 
without leaving any trace. The fortunate inhabitants have none 
of that public spirit which extends its cares beyond its horizon, 
and imports trouble and perplexity from all quarters in newspapers. 
In fact, newspapers are almost unknown in these villages, and as 
French is the current language, the inhabitants have little com- 
munity of opinion with their republican neighbors. They retain, 
therefore, their old habits of passive obedience to the decrees of 
government, as though they still lived under the absolute gway of 
colonial commandants, instead of being part and parcel of the 
sovereign people, and having a voice in public legislation. 



4:0 THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 

A few aged men, who have grown gray on their hereditary 
acres, and are of the good old colonial stock, exert a patriarchal 
sway in all matters of public and private import ; their opinions 
are considered oracular, and their word is law. 

The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that eagerness for 
gain, and rage for improvement, which keep our people continually 
on the move, and our country towns incessantly in a state of tran- 
sition. There the magic phrases, " town lots, " " water privileges," 
"railroads," and other comprehensive and soul-stirring words, 
from the speculator's vocabulary, are never heard. The residents 
dwell in the houses built by their forefathers, without thinking 
of enlarging or modernizing them, or pulling them down and turn- 
ing them into granite stores. The trees, under which they have 
been born, and have played in infancy, flourish undisturbed; 
though, by cutting them down, they might open new streets, and 
put money in their pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, that 
great object of universal devotion throughout our land, seems to 
have no genuine devotees in these peculiar villages ; and unless 
some of its missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking houses 
and other pious shrines, there is no knowing how long the inhabi- 
tants may remain in their present state of contented poverty. 

In descending one of our great western rivers in a steamboat, 
I met with two worthies from one of these villages, who had been 
on a distant excursion, the longest they had ever made, as they 
seldom ventured far from home. One was the great man, or Grand 
Seigneur of the village ; not that he enjoyed any legal privileges 
or power there, every thing of the kind having been done away 
when the province was ceded by France to the United States. 
His sway over his neighbors was merely one of custom and con 



THE CREOLE TILLAGE. 41 

vention, out of deference to his family. Beside, he was worth full 
fifty thousand dollai-s, an amount almost equal, in the imaginations 
of the villagers, to the treasures of King Solomon. 

This very substantial old gentleman, though of the fourth or 
fifth generation in this country, retained the true Gallic feature 
and deportment, and reminded me of one of those provincial po- 
tentates, that are to be met with in the remote parts of France. 
He was of a large frame, a ginger-bread complexion, strong fea- 
tures, eyes that stood out like glass knobs, and a prominent nose, 
which he frequently regaled from a gold snuff-box, and occasionally 
blew witli a colored handkerchief, until it sounded like a trumpet. 

He was attended by an old negro, as black as ebony, with a 
huge mouth, in a continual grin ; evidently a privileged and 
favorite servant, who had grown up and grown old with him. 
He was dressed in Creole style — with white jacket and trou- 
sers, a stiff shirt collar, that threatened to cut off his ears, a 
bright madras handkerchief tied round his head, and large gold 
ear-rings. He was the politest negro I met with in a west- 
ern tour; and that is saying a great deal, for, excepting the 
Indians, the negroes are the most gentlemanlike personages to be 
met with in those parts. It is true, they differ from the Indians in 
being a little extra polite and complimentary. He was also one 
of the merriest ; and here, too, the negroes, however we may de- 
plore their unhappy condition, have the advantage of their mas- 
ters. The whites are, in general, too free and prosperous to be 
merry. The cares of maintaining their rights and liberties, 
adding to their wealth, and making presidents, engross all their 
thoughts, and dry up all the moisture of their souls. If you hear 
a broad, hearty, devil-may-care laugh, be assured it is a negro's. 



4:2 THE CEEOLE VILLAGE. 

Beside this African domestic, the seigneur of the village had 
another no less cherished and privileged attendant. This "was a 
huge dog, of the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, and 
a look of surly gravity. He walked about the cabin with the air 
of a dog perfectly at home, and who had paid for his passage. At 
dinner time he took his seat beside his master, giving him a 
glance now and then out of a corner of his eye, which bespoke 
perfect confidence that he would not be forgotten. Nor was he — 
every now and then a huge morsel would be thrown to him, perad- 
venture the half-picked leg of a fowl, which he would receive with 
a snap like the springing of a steel-trap — one gulp, and all was 
down ; and a glance of the eye told his master that he was ready 
for another consignment. 

The other village worthy, travelling in company with the seig- 
neur, was of a totally different stamp. Small, thin, and weazen- 
faced, as Frenchmen are apt to be represented in caricature, with 
a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his ear. His dress 
was flimsy, and sat loosely on his frame, and he had altogether the 
look of one with but little coin in his pocket. Yet, though one of 
the poorest, I was assured he was one of the merriest and most 
popular personages in his native village. 

Compere Martin, as he was commonly called, was the facto- 
tum of the place — sportsman, schoolmaster, and land-surveyor. 
He could sing, dance, and, above all, play on the fiddle, an inval- 
uable accomplishment in an old French Creole village, for the in- 
habitants have a hereditary love for balls and fetes ; if they work 
but little, they dance a great deal, and a fiddle is the joy of their 
heart. 

What had sent Compere Martin travelling with the Grand 



THE CKEOLE VILLAGE. 4:3 

Seigneur I could not learn ; he evidently looked up to him with 
great deference, and was assiduous in rendering him petty atten- 
tions ; from which I concluded that he lived at home upon the 
crumbs which fell from his table. He was gayest when out of 
his sight ; and had his song and his joke when forward, among the 
deck passengers ; but altogether Compere Martin was out of his 
element on board of a steamboat. He was quite another being, 
I am told, when at home, in his own village. 

Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he too had his canine follower 
and retainer — and one suited to his different fortunes — one of the 
civilest, most unoffending little dogs in the world. Unlike the 
lordly mastiff, he seemed to think he had no right on board of 
the steamboat ; if you did but look hard at him, he would throw 
himself upon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring 
mercy. 

At table he took his seat a little distance from his master ; 
not with the bluff, confident air of the mastiff, but quietly and 
diffidently ; his head on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched, 
the other hopefully cocked up ; his under teeth projecting beyond 
his black nose, and his eye wistfully following each morsel that 
went into his master's mouth. 

If Compere Martin now and then should venture to abstract 
a morsel from his plate, to give to his humble companion, it was 
edifying to see with what diffidence the exemplary little animal 
would take hold of it, with the very tip of his teeth, as if he 
would almost rather not, or was fearful of taking too great a lib- 
erty. And then with what decorum would he eat it ! How many 
efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it stuck in his throat ; 
with what daintiness would he lick his lips; and then with what 



44 THE CKEOLE VILLAGE, 

an air of thankfulness would lie resume his seat, with i.j: teeth 
once more projecting beyond his nose, and an eye of humble ex- 
pectation fixed upon his master. 

It was late in the afternoon when the steamboat stopped at the 
village which was the residence of these worthies. It stood on the 
high bank of the river, and bore traces of having been a frontier 
trading post. There were the remains of stockades that once 
protected it from the Indians, and the houses were in the ancient 
Spanish and French colonial taste, the place having been success- 
ively under the domination of both those nations prior to the ces- 
sion of Louisiana to the United States. 

The arrival of the seigneur of fifty thousand dollars, and his 
numble companion, Compere Martin, had evidently been looked 
forward to as an event in the village. Numbers of men, women, 
and children, white, yellow, and black, were collected on the river 
bank ; most of them clad in old-fashioned French garments, and 
their heads decorated with colored handkerchiefs, or white night- 
caps. The moment the steamboat came within sight and hear- 
ing, there was a waving of handkerchiefs, and a screaming and 
bawling of salutations, and felicitations, that baffle all descrip- 
tion. 

The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars was received by a 
train of relatives, and friends, and children, and grandchildren, 
whom he kissed on each cheek, and who formed a procession in 
his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, following him 
to a large, old-fashioned French house, that domineered over the 
village. 

His black valet de chambre, in white jacket and trousers, and 
gold ear-rings, was met on the shore by a boon, though rustic com- 



THE CKEOLE VILLAGE. 4.5 

paaion, a tall negro fellow, with a long, good-humiored face, and 
the profile of a horse, which stood out from beneath a narrow- 
rimmed straw hat, stuck on the back of his head. The ex- 
plosions of laughter of these two varlets on meeting and ex- 
changing compliments, were enough to electrify the country- 
round. 

The most hearty reception, however, was that given to Com- 
pere Martin. Every body, young and old, hailed him before he 
got to land. Every body had a joke for Compere Martin, and 
Compere Martin had a joke for every body. Even his little dog 
appeared, to partake of his popularity, and to be caressed by 
every hand. Indeed, he was quite a different animal the moment 
he touched the land. Here he was at home; here he was of con- 
sequence. He barked, he leaped, he frisked about his old friends, 
and then would skim round the place in a wide circle, as if 
mad. 

I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to their home. It 
was an old ruinous Spanish house, of large dimensions, with ve- 
randas overshadowed by ancient elms. The house had probably 
been the residence, in old times, of the Spanish commandant. 
In one wing of this crazy, but aristocratical abode, was nestled the 
family of my fellow-traveller ; for poor devils are apt to be magni- 
ficently clad and lodged, in the cast-off clothes and abandoned pal- 
aces of the great and wealthy. 

The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed by a legion of 
women, children, and mongrel curs ; and, as poverty and gayety 
generally go hand in hand among the French and their descend- 
ants, the crazy mansion soon resounded with loud gossip and light- 
hearted laughter. 



4:6 THE CEEOLE TILLAGE. 

As the steamboat paused a short time at the village, I toolj 
occasion to stroll about the place. Most of the houses were in 
the French taste, with casements and rickety verandas, but most 
of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the waggons, ploughs, 
and other utensils about the place were of ancient and ineonven- 
ent Gallic construction, such as had been brought from France in 
the primitive days of the colony. The very looks of the people 
reminded me of the villages of France. 

From one of the houses came the hum of a spinning wheel, ac- 
companied by a scrap of an old French chanson, which I have heard 
many a time among the peasantry of Languedoe, doubtless a tra- 
ditional song, brought over by the first French emigrants, and 
handed down from generation to generation. 

Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the adjacent dwellings, 
reminding me, by their light step and gay costume, of scenes in 
ancient France, where taste in dress comes natural to every class 
of females. The trim bodice and colored petticoat, and little 
apron, with its pockets to receive the hands when in an attitude 
for conversation ; the colored kerchief wound tastefully round the 
head, with a coquettish knot perking above one ear; and the 
neat slipper and tight drawn stocking, with its braid of narrow 
ribbon embracing the ancle where it peeps from its mysterious 
curtain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends his most incit- 
ing arrows. 

While I was musing upon the recollections thus accidentally 

summoned up, I heard the sound of a fiddle from the mansion of 

Compere Martin, the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I 

was disposed to turn my steps thither, and witness the festivities 

f one of the very few villages I had met with in my wide tour, 



THE CEEOLE VILLAGE. 



47 



that was yet poor enough to be merry ; but the bell of the steam- 
boat summoned me to re-embark. 

As we swept away from the shore, I cast back a wistful eya 
upon the moss-grown roofs and ancient elms of the village, and 
prayed that the inhabitants might long retain their happy ignorance, 
their absence of all enterprise and improvement, their respect for 
the fiddle, and their contempt for the almighty dollar.* I fear, 
however, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In a little while, 
the steamboat whirled me to an American town, just springing 
into bustling and prosperous existence. 

The surrounding forest had been laid out in town lots; frames 
of wooden buildings were rising from among stumps and burnt 
trees. The place already boasted a court-house, a jail, and two 
banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of Grecian temples. 
There were rival hotels, rival churches, and rival newspapers ; to- 
gether with the usual number of judges, and generals, and gover- 
nors ; not to speak of doctors by the dozen, and lawyers by the 
score. 

The place, I was told, was in an astonishing career of improve- 
ment, with a canal and two railroads in embryo. Lots doubled 
in price every week ; every body was speculating in land ; every 
body was rich ; and every body was growing richer. The com- 
munity, however, was torn to pieces by new doctrines in religion 



* This phrase used for the first time, in this sketch, has since passed into 
current circulation, and by some has been questioned as savoring of ir 
reverence. The author, therefore, owes it to his orthodoxy tr declare that 
no irreverence was intended even to the dollar itself; "vrhir.h b^ la aware 
ie daily becomiug more and more an object of worship. 



4.8 THE CKEOLE VILLAGE. 

and in political economy ; there were camp meetings, and agrarian 
meetings ; and an election was at hand, which, it was expected^ 
would throw the whole country into a paroxysm. 

Alas ! with such an enterprising neighbor, what is to become 
ot" the poor little Creole village I 



MOUNT JOY: 

OR SOME PASSAGES OUT OF THE LIFE OF A 
CASTLE-BUILDER. 

I "WAS born among romantic scenery, in one of the wildest parts 
of the Hudson, which at that time was not so thickly settled as 
at present. My father was descended from one of the old Hu- 
guenot families, that came over to this country on the revocation 
of the Edict of Nantz. He lived in a style of easy, rural indepen- 
dence, on a patrimonial estate that had been for two or three gen- 
erations in the family. He was an indolent, good-natured man, 
took the world as it went, and had a kind of laughing philos- 
ophy, that parried all rubs and mishaps, and served him in the 
place of wisdom. This was the part of his character least to my 
taste ; for I was of an enthusiastic, excitable temperament, prone 
to kindle up with new schemes and projects, and he was apt to 
dash my sallying enthusiasm by some unlucky joke; so that 
whenever I was in a glow with any sudden excitement, I stood in 
mortal dread of his good-humor. 

Yet he indulged me in every vagary ; for I was an only son, 
and of course a personage of importance in the household. 1 had 



50 MOUNTJOY. 

two sisters older thau myself, and one younger. The former were 
educated at New York, under the eye of a maiden aunt ; the lat- 
ter remained at home, and was my cherished playmate, the com- 
panion of my thoughts. We were two imaginative little beings, 
of quick susceptibility, and prone to see wonders and mysteries in 
every thing around us. Scarce had we learned to read, when our 
mother made us holiday presents of all the nursery literature of 
the day ; which at that time consisted of little books covered with 
gilt paper, adorned with '^cuts," and filled with tales of fairies, 
giants, and enchanters. What draughts of delightful fiction did 
we then inhale ! My sister Sophy was of a soft and tender na- 
ture. She would weep over the woes of the Children in the Wood , 
or quake at the dark romance of Blue-Beard, and the terrible 
mysteries of the blue chamber. But I was all for enterprise and 
adventure. I burned to emulate the deeds of that heroic prince, 
who delivered the white cat from her enchantment ; or he of no 
less royal blood, and doughty emprise, who broke the charmed 
slumber of the Beauty in the Wood ! 

The house in which we lived, was just the kind of place to 
foster such propensities. It was a venerable mansion, half villa, 
half farm-house. The oldest part was of stone, with loopholes for 
musketry, having served as a family fortress, in the time of the 
Indians. To this there had been made various additions, some 
of brick, some of wood, according to the exigencies of the mo- 
ment ; so that it was full of nooks and crooks, and chambers of 
all sorts and sizes. It was buried among willows, elms, and cherry 
trees, and surrounded with roses and hollyhocks, with honey- 
suckle and sweetbrier clambering about every window. A brood 
of hereditary pigeons sunned themselves upon the roof; hereditary 



MOUNTJOT. 51 

swallows and martins built about the eaves and chimneys ; and 
hereditary bees hummed about the flower-beds. 

Under the influence of our story-books, every object around us 
now assumed a new character, and a charmed interest. The wild 
flowers were no longer the mere ornaments of the fields, or the 
cs jrts of the toilful bee ; they were the lurking-places of fairies. 
We would watch the humming-bird, as it hovered around the 
trumpet creeper at our porch, and the butterfly as it flitted up 
into the blue air, above the sunny tree tops, and fancy them some 
of the tiny beings from fairy land. I would call to mind all that 
I had read of Robin Goodfellow, and his power of transformation. 
how I envied him that power ! How I longed to be able to 
compress my form into utter littleness ; to ride the bold dragon- 
fly; swing on the tall bearded grass; follow the ant into his sub- 
terraneous habitation, or dive into the cavernous depths of the 
honeysuckle ! 

While I was yet a mere child, I was sent to a daily school, 
about two miles distant. The school-house was on the edge of a 
wood, close by a brook overhung with birches, alders, and dwarf 
willows. We of the school who lived at some distance, came with 
our dinners put up in little baskets. In the intervals of school 
hours, we would gather round a spring, under a tuft of hazel- 
bushes, and have a kind of picnic ; interchanging the rustic 
dainties with which our provident mothers had fitted us out. 
Then, when our joyous repast was over, and my companions were 
disposed for play, I would draw forth one of my cherished story- 
books, stretch myself on the greensward, and soon lose myself in 
its bewitching contents. 

I became an oracle among my school-mates, on account of my 



62 MOUNTJOY. 

superior erudition, and soon imparted to them the contagion of my 
infected fancy. Often in the evening, after school hours, we 
would sit on the trunk of some fallen tree in the woods, and vie 
with each other in telling extravagant stories, until the whip-poor- 
will began his nightly moaning, and the fire-flies sparkled in the 
gloom. Then came the perilous journey homeward. What de- 
light we would take in getting up wanton panics, in some dusky 
part of the wood ; scampering like frightened deer ; pausing to 
take breath; renewing the panic, and scampering off again, wild 
with fictitious terror ! 

Our greatest trial was to pass a dark, lonely pool, covered 
with pond-lilies, peopled with bull-frogs and water snakes, and 
haunted by two white cranes. Oh ! the terrors of that pond ! 
How our little hearts would beat, as we approached it; what 
fearful glances we would throw around ! And if by chance a 
plash of a wild duck, or the guttural twang of a bull-frog, struck 
our ears, as we stole quietly by — away we sped, nor paused until 
completely out of the woods. Then, when I reached home, what 
a world of adventures, and imaginary terrors, would I have to re- 
late to my sister Sophy ! 

As I advanced in years, this turn of mind increased upon me, 
and became more confirmed. I abandoned myself to the impulses 
of a romantic imagination, which controlled my studies, and gave 
a bias to all my habits. My father observed me continually with 
a book in my hand, and satisfied himself that I was a profound 
student ; but what were my studies ? "Works of fiction ; tales of 
chivalry ; voyages of discovery ; travels in the east ; every thing, 
in short, that partook of adventure and romance. I well remem- 
ber with what zest I entered upon that part of my studies which 



MOUNTJOY. 53 

treated of the heathen mythology, and particularly of the sylvan 
deities. Then indeed my school-books became dear to me. The 
neighborhood was well calculated to foster the reveries of a mind 
like mine. It abounded with solitary retreats, wild streams, 
solemn forests, and silent valleys. I would ramble about for a whole 
day, with a volume of Ovid's Metamorphoses in my pocket, and 
work myself into a kind of self-delusion, so as to identify the sur- 
rounding scenes with those of which I had just been reading. I 
would loiter about a brook that glided through the shadowy depths 
of the forest, picturing it to myself the haunt of Naiades. I would 
steal round some bushy copse that opened upon a glade, as if I 
expected to come suddenly upon Diana and her nymphs; or to 
behold Pan and his satyrs bounding, with whoop and halloo, 
through the woodland. I would throw myself, during the panting 
heats of a summer noon, under the shade of some wide-spreading 
tree, and muse and dream away the hours, in a state of mental 
intoxication. I drank in the very light of day, as nectar, and my 
soul seemed to bathe with ecstasy in the deep blue of a summer 
sky. 

In these wanderings, nothing occurred to jar my feelings, or 
bring me back to the realities of life. There is a repose in our 
mighty forests, that gives full scope to the imagination. Now 
and then I would hear the distant sound of the wood-cutter's axe, 
or the crash of some tree which he had laid low ; but these noises, 
echoing along the quiet landscape, could easily be wrought by fancy 
into harmony with its illusions. In general, however, the woody 
recesses of the neighborhood were peculiarly wild and unfre- 
quented. I could ramble for a whole day, without coming upon 
any traces of cultivation. The partridge of the wood scarcely 



54 



MOUNT JOY. 



seemed to shun my path, and the squirrel, from his nut-tree, 
would gai^e at me for an instant, with sparkling eye, as if wonder- 
ing at the unwonted intrusion. 

I cannot help dwelling on this delicious period of my life ; 
when as yet I had known no sorrow, nor experienced any worldly 
care. I have since studied much, both of hooks and men, and of 
course have grown too wise to be so easily pleased ; yet with all 
my wisdom, I must confess I look bacK with a secret feeling of 
regret to the days of happy ignorance, before I had begun to be a 
philosopher. ^ . 



It must be evident that I was in a hopeful training, for one 
who was to descend into the arena of life, and wrestle with thiB 
world. The tutor, also, who superintended my studies, in the 
more advanced stage of my education, was just fitted to complete 
the fata morgana which was forming in my mind. His name 
was Glencoe. He was a pale, melancholy-looking man, about 
forty years of age ; a native of Scotland, liberally educated, and 
who had devoted himself to the instruction of youth, from taste 
rather than necessity ; for, as he said, he loved the human heart, 
and delighted to study it in its earlier impulses. My two elder 
sisters, having returned home from a city boarding-school, were 
likewise placed under his care, to direct their reading in history 
and belles-lettres. 

We all soon became attached to Glencoe. It is true, we were 
at first somewhat prepossessed against him. His meagre, pallid 
countenance, his broad pronunciation, his inattention to the little 
forms of society, and an awkward and embarrassed manner, on 



MOUNIMOY. 65 

flrst acquaintance, were much against him ; but we soon discovered 
that under this unpromising exterior existed the kindest ur- 
banity ; the warmest sympathies ; the most enthusiastic benev- 
olence. His mind was ingenious and acute. His reading had 
been various, but more abstruse than profound : his memory was 
stored, on all subjects, with facts, theories, and quotations, and 
crowded with crude materials for thinking. These, in a moment 
of excitement, would be, as it were, melted down, and poured 
forth in the lava of a heated imagination. At such moments, the 
change in the whole man was wonderful. His meagre form would 
acquire a dignity and grace; his long, pale visage would flash 
with a hectic glow ; his eyes would beam with intense speculation ; 
and there would be pathetic tones and deep modulations in his 
voice, that delighted the ear, and spoke movingly to the heart. 

But what most endeared him to us, was the kindness and 
sympathy with which he entered into all our interests and wishes. 
Instead of curbing and checking our young imaginations with the 
reins of sober reason, be was a little too apt to catch the impulse, 
and be hurried away with us. He could not withstand the excite- 
ment of any sally of feeling or fancy ; and was prone to lend 
heightening tints to the illusive coloring of youthful anticipation. 

Under his guidance, my sisters and myself soon entered upon 
a more extended range of studies ,• but while they wandered, with 
delighted minds, through the wide field of history and belles-let- 
tres, a nobler walk was opened to my superior intellect. 

The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mixture of philoso- 
phy and poetry. He was fond of metaphysics, and prone to in- 
dulge in abstract speculations, though his metaphysics were some- 
what fine spun and fanciful, and his speculations were apt to par- 



66 



MOUNTJOY. 



take of what my father most irreverently termed " humbug." Foi 
my part, I delighted in them, and the more especially, because 
they set my father to sleep, and completely confounded my sis- 
ters. I entered, with my accustomed eagerness, into this new 
branch of study. Metaphysics were now my passion. My sisters 
attempted to accompany me, but they soon faltered, and gave out 
before they had got half way through Smith's Theory of Mo- 
ral Sentiments. I, however, went on, exulting in my strength. 
Grlencoe supplied me with books, and I devoured them with appe- 
tite, if not digestion. We walked and talked together under the 
trees before the house, or sat apart, like Milton's angels, and 
held high converse upon themes beyond the grasp of ordinary in- 
tellects. Glencoe possessed a kind of philosophic chivalry, in im- 
itation of the old peripatetic sages, and was continually dreaming 
of romantic enterprises in morals, and splendid systems for the 
improvement of society. He had a fanciful mode of illustrating 
abstract subjects, peculiarly to my taste ; clothing them with the 
language of poetry, and throwing round them almost the magic 
hues of fiction. " How charming," thought I, " is divine philoso- 
phy ; " not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 

" But a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns." 

I felt a wonderful self-complacency at being on such excellent 
terms with a man whom I considered on a parallel with the sages 
of antiquity, and looked down with a sentiment of pity on the 
feebler intellects of my sisters, who could comprehend nothing of 
metaphysics. It is true, when I attempted to study them by my- 
,?elf I was apt to get in a fog ; but when Glencoe came to my aid, 



MOUNTJOT. 57 

every thing was soon as clear to me as day. My ear drank in the 
beauty of his words ; my imagination was dazzled with the splen- 
dor of his illustrations. It caught up the sparkling sands of poe- 
rry that glittered through his speculations, and mistook them for 
the golden ore of wisdom. Struck with the facility with which 1 
seemed to imhibe and relish the most abstract doctrines, I con- 
ceived a still higher opinion of my mental powers, and was con- 
vinced that I also was a philospher. 



I was now verging toward man's estate, and though my edu- 
cation had been extremely irregular — ^following the caprices of my 
humor, which I mistook for the impulses of my genius — yet I was 
regarded with wonder and delight by my mother and sisters, who 
considered me almost as wise and infallible as I considered myself. 
This high opinion of me was strengthened by a declamatory hab- 
it, which made me an oracle and orator at the domestic board. 
The time was now at hand, however, that was to put my philoso- 
phy to the test. 

We had passed through a long winter, and the spring at length 
opened upon us, with unusual sweetness. The soft serenity of the 
weather; the beauty of the surrounding country; the joyous notes 
of the birds ; the balmy breath of flower and blossom, all com- 
bined to fill my bosom with indistinct sensations, and nameless 
wishes. Amid the soft seductions of the season, I lapsed into a 
state of utter indolence, both of body and mind. 

Philosophy had lost its charms for me. Metaphysics — ^faugh ! 
I tried to study ; took down volume after vol^ime, ran my eye va- 
cantly over a few pages, and threw them by with distaste. I lot 
3* 



00 MOUNTJOT. 

tered about the house, with my hands in my pockets, and an aiir 
of complete vacancy. Something was necessary to make me hap 
pj ; but what was that something ! I sauntered to the apart 
meuts of my sisters, hoping their conversation might amuse me. 
They had walked out, and the room was vacant. On the table 
lay a volume which they had been reading. It was a novel. 1 
had never read a novel, having conceived a contempt for works of 
the kind, from hearing them universally condemned. It is true, 

1 had remarked they were universally read; but I considered 
them beneath the attention of a philosopher, and never would 
venture to read them, lest I should lessen my mental superiority 
in the eyes of my sisters. Nay, I had taken up a work of the 
kind, now and then, when I knew my sisters were observing me, 
looked into it for a moment, and then laid it down, with a slight 
supercilious smile. On the present occasion, out of mere listless- 
ness, I took up the volume, and turned over a few of the first 
pages. I thought I heard some one coming, and laid it down. I 
was mistaken ; no one was near, and what I had read, tempted my 
curiosity to read a little farther. I leaned against a window-frame, 
and in a few minutes was completely lost in the story. How 
long I stood there reading, I know not, but I believe for nearly 
two hours. Suddenly I heard my sisters on the stairs, when I 
thrust the book into my bosom, and the two other volumes, which 
lay near, into my pockets, and hurried out of the house to my 
beloved woods. Here I remained all day beneath the trees, be- 
wildered, bewitched; devouring the contents of these delicious 
volumes ; and only returned to the house when it was too dark to 
pei'use their pages. 

This novel finished, I replaced it in my sister's apartment, and 



MOUNTJOY. 59 

looked for others. Their stock was ample, for they had brought 
home all that were current in the city; but my appetite demanded 
an immense supply. All this course of reading was carried on 
clandestinely, for I was a little ashamed of it, and fearful that my 
wisdom might be called in question; but this very privacy gave it 
additional zest. It was " bread eaten in secret; " it had the charm 
of a private amour. 

But think what must have been the effect of such a course of 
reading on a youth of my temperament and turn of mind ; in- 
dulged, too, amidst romantic scenery, and in the romantic season of 
the year. It seemed as if I had entered upon a new scene of ex- 
istence. A train of combustible feelings were lighted up in me, 
and my soul was all tenderness and passion. Never was youth 
more completely love sick, though as yet it was a mere general 
sentiment, and wanted a definite object. Unfortunately, our 
neighborhood was particularly deficient in female society, and I 
languished in vain for some divinity, to whom I might offer up 
this most uneasy burthen of affections. I was at one time seri- 
ously enamored of a lady whom I saw occasionally in my rides, 
reading at the window of a country-seat ; and actually serenaded 
her with my flute ; when, to my confusion, I discovered that she 
was old enough to be my mother. It was a sad damper to my 
romance; especially as my father heard of it, and made it the 
subject of one of those household jokes, which he was apt to serve 
up at every meal-time. 

I soon recovered from this check, however, but it was only to 
relapse into a state of amorous excitement. I passed whole days 
in the fields, and along the brooks ; for there is something in the 
tender passion that makes us alive to the beauties of nature. A 



60 MOUNTJOT. 

soft sunshine morning infused a sort of rapture into my breast, 
I flung open my arms, like the Grecian youth in Ovid, as if 1 
would take in and embrace the balmy atmosphere.* The song 
L'f the birds melted me to tenderness. I would lie by the side of 
some rivulet, for hours, and form garlands of the flowers on its 
banks, and muse on ideal beauties, and sigh from the crowd of 
undefined emotions that swelled my bosom. 

In this state of amorous delirium, I was strolling one morning 
aloEg a beautiful wild brook which I had discovered in a glen. 
There was one place where a small water-fall, leaping from among 
rocks into a natural basin, made a scene such as a poet might 
have chosen as the haunt of some shy Naiad. It was here I 
usually retired to banquet on my novels. In visiting the place 
this morning, I traced distinctly, on the margin of the basin, 
which was of fine clear sand, the prints of a female foot, of the 
most slender and delicate proportions. This was sufficient for an 
imagination like mine. Robinson Crusoe himself, when he dis- 
covered the print of a savage foot on the beach of his lonely 
island, could not have been more suddenly assailed with thick- 
coming fancies. 

I endeavored to track the steps, but they only passed for a 
few paces along the fine sand, and then were lost among the herb- 
age. I remained gazing in reverie upon this passing trace of 
loveliness. It evidently was not made by any of my sisters, for 
they knew nothing of this haunt ; besides, the foot was smaller 
than their?; it was remarkable for its beautiful delicacy. 

My eye accidentally caught two or three half-withered wild 

* Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book viL 



MOUNTJOT. 61 

flowers, lying on the ground. The unknown nymph had doubtless 
dropped them from her bosom ! Here was a new document of 
taste and sentiment. I treasured them up as invaluable relics 
The place, too, where I found them, was remarkably picturesque, 
and the most beautiful paxt of the brook. It was overhung with 
fine elm, entwined with grape-vines. She who could select such 
a spot, who could delight in wild brooks, and wild flowers, and 
silent solitudes, must have fancy, and feeling, and tenderness ; 
and with all these qualities, she must be beautiful ! 

But who could be this Unknown, that had thus passed by, as 
in a morning dream, leaving merely flowers and fairy footsteps, to 
tell of her loveliness ! There was a mystery in it that bewildered 
me. It was so vague and disembodied, like those " airy tongues 
that syllable men's names " in solitude. Every attempt to solve 
the mystery was vain. I could bear of no being in the neighbor- 
hood to whom this trace could be ascribed. I haunted the spot, 
and became more and more enamored. Never, surely, was pas- 
sion more pure and spiritual, and never lover in more dubious 
situation. My case could only be compared with that of the 
amorous prince, in the fairy tale of Cinderella ; but he had a 
glass slipper on which to lavish his tenderness. I, alas ! was in 
love with a footstep ! 



The imagination is alternately a cheat and a dupe ; nay more, 

it is the most subtle of cheats, for it cheats itself, and becomes 

the dupe of its own delusions. It conjures up " airy nothings," 

gives to them a " local habitation and a name," and then bows to 

heir control as implicitly as if they were realities. Such was 



62 MOUNTJOY. 

now my case. The good Numa could not more thorougiily have 
persuaded himself that the nymph Egeria hovered about her 
sacred fountain, and communed with him in spirit, than I had 
deceived myself into a kind of visionary intercourse with the airy 
phantom fabricated in my brain. I constructed a rustic seat at 
the foot of the tree where I had discovered the footsteps. I made 
a kind of bower there, where I used to pass my mornings, read- 
ing poetry and romances. I carved hearts and darts on the tree, 
and hung it with garlands. My heart was full to overflowing, 
and wanted some faithful bosom into which it might relieve itself. 
What is a lover without a confidante ? I thought at once of my 
sister Sophy, my early playmate, the sister of my affections. She 
was so reasonable, too, and of such correct feelings, always listen- 
ing to my words as oracular sayings, and admiring my scraps of 
poetry, as the very inspirations of the muse. From such a devot- 
ed, such a rational being, what secrets could I have ? 

I accordingly took her, one morning, to my favorite retreat. 
She looked around, with delighted surprise, upon the rustic seat, 
the bower, the tree carved with emblems of the tender passion. 
She turned her eyes upon me to inquire the meaning. 

" Oh, Sophy," exclaimed I, clasping both her hands in mine, 
and looking earnestly in her face, " I am in love ! " 

She started with surprise. 

" Sit down," said I, " and I will tell you all." 

She seated herself upon the rustic bench, and I went into a 
full history of the footstep, with all the associations of idea that 
had been conjured up by my imagination. 

Sophy was enchanted ; it was like a fairy tale : She had read 
of such mysterious visitations in books, and the loves thus con- 



MOUNTJOY, 63 

ceived were always for beings of superior order, and were always 
happy. She caught the illusion, in all its force ; her cheek glow- 
ed ; her eye brightened. 

" I dare say she's pretty," said Sophy. 

" Pretty ! " echoed I, " she is beautiful ! " I went through all 
the reasoning by which I had logically proved the fact to my own 
satisfaction, I dwelt upon the evidences of her taste, her sensi- 
bility to the beauties of nature ; her soft meditative habit, that 
delighted in solitude ; " oh," said I, clasping my hands " to have 
such a companion to wander through these scenes ; to sit with her 
by this murmuring stream ; to wreathe garlands round her brows ; 
to hear the music of her voice mingling with the whisperings of 
these groves ; " 

" Delightful ! delightful ! " cried Sophy; " what a sweet creature 
she must be ! She is just the friend I want. How I shall dote 
upon her ! Oh, my dear brother ! you must not keep her all to 
yourself. You must let me have some share of her !" 

I caught her to my bosom : " You shall — you shall ! " cried I, 
" my dear Sophy; we will all live for each other ! " 



The conversation with Sophy heightened the illusions of my 
mind ; and the manner in which she had treated my day-dream, 
identified it with facts and persons, and gave it still more the 
stamp of reality. I walked about as one in a trance, heedless of 
the world around, and lapped in an elysium of the fancy. 

In this mood I met, one morning, with Griencoe. He accosted 
me with his usual smile, and was proceeding with some general ob- 
servations, but paused and fixed on me an inquiring eye. 



64 MOUNTJOY. 

" What is the matter with you ? " said he ; " you soem agitated j 
has any thing in particular happened ? " 

" Nothing," said I, hesitating ; " at least nothing worth commu- 
nicating to you." 

'' Nay, my dear young friend," said he, " whatever is of sufficient 
importance to agitate you, is worthy of being communicated to me." 

" Well ; but my thoughts are running on what you would 
think a frivolous subject." 

" No subject is frivolous, that has the power to awaken strong 
feelings." 

" What think you," said I, hesitating, "what think you of love ? " 

Grleneoe almost started at the question. " Do you call that a 
frivolous subject ? " replied he. " Believe me, there is none fraught 
with such deep, such vital interest. If you talk, indeed, of the 
capricious inclination awakened by the mere charm of perishable 
beauty, I grant it to be idle in the extreme ; but that love which 
springs from the concordant sympathies of virtuous hearts ; that 
love which is awakened by the perception of moral excellence, and 
fed by meditation on intellectual as well as personal beauty ; that 
is a passion which refines and ennobles the human heart. Oh, 
where is there a sight more nearly approaching to the intercourse 
of angels, than that of two young beings, free from the sins and 
follies of the world, mingling pure thoughts, and looks, and feel- 
ings, and becoming as it were soul of one soul, and heart of one 
heart ! How exquisite the silent converse that they hold ; the 
soft devotion of the eye, that needs no words to make it eloquent' 
Yes, my friend, if there be any thing in this weary world worthy 
of heaven, it is the pure bliss of such a mutual affection ! " 

The words of my worthy tutor overcame all farther reserve. 
' Mr. Glencoe," cried I, blushing still deeper, " I am in love ! " 



MOUNTJOY. 65 

" And is that what jou were ashamad to tell me ? Oh, never 
seek to conceal from your friend so important a secret. If your 
passion be unworthy, it is for the steady hand of friendship to 
pluck it forth ; if honorable, none but an enemy would seek to 
stifle it. On nothing does the character and happiness so much 
depend, as on the first afiection of the heart. Were you caught 
by some fleeting and superficial charm — a bright eye, a blooming 
cheek, a soft voice, or a voluptuous form — I would warn you to 
beware ; I would tell you that beauty is but a passing gleam of 
the morning, a perishable flower ; that accident may becloud 
and blight it, and that at best it must soon pass away. But were 
you in love with such a one as I could describe ; young in years, 
but still younger in feelings ; lovely in person, but as a type of 
the mind's beauty ; soft in voice, in token of gentleness of spirit ; 
blooming in countenance, like the rosy tints of morning kindling 
with the promise of a genial day ; an eye beaming with the benig- 
nity of a happy heart ; a cheerful temper, alive to all kind impul- 
ses, and frankly diffusing its own felicity ; a self-poised mind, 
that needs not lean on others for support ; an elegant taste, that 
can embellish solitude, and furnish out its own enjoyments -'" 

" My dear sir," cried I, for I could contain myself no longer, 
" you have described the very person ! " 

" Why then, my dear young friend," said he, affectionately 
pressing my hand, " in God's name, love on ! " 



For the remainder of the day, I was in some such state of 
dreamy beatitude as a Turk is said to enjoy, when under the in- 
fluence of opium. It must be already manifest, how prone 1 was 



66 MOUNTJOY. 

to bewilder myself witli picturings of tlie fancy, so as to confound 
them with existing realities. In the present instance, Sophy and 
Glencoe had contributed to promote the transient delusion. So- 
phy, dear girl, had as usual joined with me in my castle-building, 
and indulged in the same train of imaginings, while Glencoe, dup- 
ed by my enthusiasm, firmly believed that I spoke of a being I had 
seen and known. By their sympathy with my feelings, they in a 
manner became associated with the Unknown in my mind, and 
thus linked her with the circle of my intimacy. 

In the evening, our family party was assembled in the hall, to 
enjoy the refreshing breeze. Sophy was playing some favorite 
Scotch airs on the piano, while Glencoe, seated apart, with his 
forehead resting on his hand, was burled in one of those pensive 
reveries, that made him so interesting to me. 

" What a fortunate being I am ! " thought I, " blessed with 
such a sister and such a friend ! I have only to find out this 
amiable Unknown, to wed her, and be happy ! What a paradise 
will be my home, graced with a partner of such exquisite refine- 
ment ! It will be a perfect fairy bower, buried among sweets 
and roses. Sophy shall live with .us, and be the companion of all 
our enjoyments. Glencoe, too, shall no more be the solitary being 
that he now appears. He shall have a home with us. He shall 
have his study, where, when he pleases, he may shut himself up 
from the world, and bury himself in his own reflections. His re- 
treat shall be held sacred ; no one shall intrude there ; no one 
but myself, who will visit him now and then, in his seclusion, 
where we will devise grand schemes together for the improvement 
of mankind. How delightfully our days will pass, in a round of 
rational pleasures and elegant employments ! Sometimes we will 



MOUNTJOY. 67 

have music; sometimes we will read ; sometimes we will wander 
through the flower-garden, when I will smile with complacency on 
every flower my wife has planted ; while in the long winter even- 
ings, the ladies will sit at their work and listen, with hushed at- 
tention, to Grieacoe and myself, as we discuss the abstruse doc- 
trines of metaphysics." ^ 

From this delectable reverie, I was startled by my father's 
slapping me on the shoulder : " What possesses the lad ? " cried 
he : " here haive I been speaking to you half a dozen times, with- 
out receiving an answer." 

"Pardon me, sir," replied I; "I was so completely lost in 
thought, that I did not hear you." 

" Lost in thought ! And pray what were you thinking of? 
Some of your philosophy, I suppose." 

" Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, with an arch laugh, 
" I suspect Harry's in love again." 

" And if I were in love, Charlotte," said I, somewhat nettled, 
and recollecting Glencoe's enthusiastic eulogy of the passion, " if 
I were in love, is that a matter of jest and laughter ? Is the ten- 
derest and most fervid afi"ection that can animate the human 
breast, to be made a matter of co]d-hearted ridicule ? " 

My sister colored. " Certainly not, brother ! — nor did I mean 
to make it so, nor to say any thing that should wound your feel- 
ings. Had I really suspected that you bad formed some genuine 
attachment, it would have been sacred in my eyes ; but — but," 
said she, smiling, as if at some whimsical recollection, "I thought 
that you — you might be indulging in another little freak of the 
imagination." 

" I'll wager any money," cried my father, " he has fallen in love 
again with some old lady at a window ! " 



68 MOUNTJOY. 

" Oh no ! " cried my dear sister Sophy, with the most gracious 
warmth ; " she is young and beautiful." 

" From what 1 understand," said Gleneoe, rousing himself, 
" she must be lovely in mind as in person." 

I found my friends were getting me into a fine scrape. I be- 
gan to perspire at every pore, and felt»my ears tingle. 

'•Well, but," cried my father, "who is she? — what is she? 
Let us hear something about her." 

This was no time to explain so- delicate a matter. I caught 
up my hat, and vanished out of the house. 

The moment I was in the open air, and alone, my heart up- 
braided me. Was this respectful treatment to my father — to such 
a father too — who had always regarded me as the pride of his 
age — the staff of his hopes ? It is true, he was apt, sometimes, 
to laugh at my enthusiastic flights, and did not treat my philoso- 
phy with due respect ; but when had he ever thwarted a wish of 
my heait? Was I then to act with reserve toward him, in a 
matter which might affect the whole current of my future life ? 
" I have done wrong," thought I ; " but it is not too late to 
remedy it. I will hasten back, and open my whole heart to my 
father ! " 

I returned accordingly, and was just on the point of entering 
the house, with my heart full of filial piety, and a contrite speech 
upon my lips, when I heard a burst of obstreperous laughter from 
my father, and a loud titter from my two elder sisters. 

" A footstep ! " shouted he, as soon as he could recover him- 
self; "in love "with a footstep ! why, this beats the old lady at 
the window ! " And then there was another appalling burst of 
laughter. Had it been a clap of thunder, it could hardly have 



MOUNTJOY. 69 

astounded me more completely, Sophy, in the simplicity of het 
heart, had told all, and had set my father's risible propensities in 
full action. 

Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crest-fallen as myself. 
The whole delusion was at an end. I drew off silently from the 
house, shrinking smaller and smaller at every fresh peal of laugh- 
ter ; and wandering about until the family had retired, stole 
quietly to my bed. Scarce any sleep, however, visited my eyes 
that night! I lay overwhelmed with mortification, and meditating 
how I might meet the family in the morning. The idea of ridi- 
cule was always intolerable to me ; but to endure it on a subject 
by which my feelings had been so much excited, seemed worse 
than death. I almost determined, at one time, to get up, saddle 
my horse, and ride off, I knew not whither. 

At length I came to a resolution. Before going down to 
breakfast, I sent for Sophy, and employed her as ambassador to 
treat formally in the matter. I insisted that the subject should 
be buried in oblivion ; otherwise, I would net show my face at 
table. It was readily agreed to ; for not one of the family would 
have given me pain for the world. They faithfully kept their 
promise. Not a word was said of the matter ; but there were 
wry faces, and suppressed titters, that went to my soul ; and 
whenever my father looked me in the face, it was with such a tra- 
gic-comical leer — such an attempt to pull down a serious brow 
apon a whimsical mouth — that I had a thousand times rather he 
had laughed outright. 



For a day or two after the mortifying occurrence mentioned, ] 
rcopt as much as possible out of the way of the family, and wan- 



70 MOUNTJOY. 

dered about the fields and woods by myself. 1 was sadly out of 
tune : my feelings were all jarred and unstrung. The birds sang 
from every grove, but I took no pleasure in their melody ; and 
the flowers of the field bloomed unheeded around me. To be 
crossed in love, is bad enough.; but then- one can fly to poetry for 
relief; and turn one's woes to account in soul-subduing stanzas. 
But to have one's whole passion, object and all, annihilated, dis- 
pelled, proved to be such stuff as dreams are made of — or, worse 
than all, to be turned into a proverb and a jest — what consolation 
is there in such a case ? • . 

I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen the footstep. My 
favorite resort was now the banks of the Hudson, where I sat 
upon the rocks, and mused upon the current that dimpled by, or 
the waves that laved the shore ; or watched the bright mutations 
of the clouds, and the shifting lights and shadows of the distant 
mountain. By degrees, a returning serenity stole over my feel- 
ings ; and a sigh now and then, gentle and easy, and unattended 
by pain, showed that my heart was recovering its susceptibility. 

As I was sitting in this musing mood, my eye became gradu- 
ally fixed upon an object that was borne along by the tide. It 
proved to be a little pinnace, beautifully modelled, and gaily 
painted and decorated. It was an unusual sight in this neighbor- 
hood, which was rather lonely : indeed, it was rare to see any 
pleasure-barks in this part of the river. As it drew nearer, I 
perceived that there was no one on board; it had apparently 
drifted from its anchorage. There was not a breath of air : the 
little bark came floating along on the glassy stream, wheeling 
about with the eddies. At length it ran aground, almost at the 
'oot of the rock on which I was seated. I descended to the mar- 



MOUNTJOY. 71 

gin of the river, and drawing the bark to shore, admired its light 
and elegant proportions, and the taste with which it was fitted 
up. The benches were covered with cushions, and its long 
streamer was of silk. On one of the cushions lay a lady's glove, 
of delicate size and shape, with beautifully tapered fingers. I 
mstantly seized it and thrust it in my bosom : it seemed a match 
for the fairy footstep that had so fascinated me. 

In a moment, all the romance of my bosom Avas again in a 
glow. Here was one of the very incidents of fairy tale : a bark 
sent by some invisible power, some good genius, or benevolent 
fairy, to waft me to some delectable adventure. I recollected 
something of an enchanted bark, drawn by white swans, that con- 
veyed a knight down the current of the Rhine, on some enterprise 
connected with love and beauty. The glove, too, showed that 
there was a lady fair concerned in the present adventure. It 
might be a gauntlet of defiance, to dare me to the enterprise. 

In the spirit of romance, and the whim of the moment, I 
sprang on board, hoisted the light sail, and pushed from shore. 
As if breathed by some presiding power, a light breeze at that 
moment sprang up, swelled out the sail, and dallied with the silken 
streamer. For a time I glided along under steep umbrageous 
banks, or across deep sequestered bays ; and then stood out over 
a wide expansion of the river, toward a high rocky promontory. 
It was a lovely evening : the sun was setting in a congregation of 
clouds that threw the whole heavens in a glow, and were reflected 
in the river. I delighted myself with all kinds of fantastic fancies, 
as to what enchanted island, or mystic bower, or necromantic 
palace, I was to be conveyed by the fairy bark. 

In the revel of my fancy, I had not noticed that the gorgeous 



72 MOUNTJOY. 

congregation of clouds which had so much delighted me, was in 
fact a gathering thunder-gust. I perceived the truth too late 
The clouds came hurrying on, darkening as they advanced. The 
whole face of nature was suddenly changed, and assumed that bale 
ful and livid tint, predictive of a storm. I tried to gain the shore, 
but before I could reach it, a blast of wind struck the water, and 
lashed it at once into foam. The next moment it overtook the 
boat. Alas ! I was nothing of a sailor ; and my protecting fairy 
forsook me in the moment of peril. I endeavored to lower the 
sail : but in so doing, I had to quit the helm ; the bark was over- 
turned in an instant, and I was thrown into the water. I en- 
deavored to cling to the wreck, but missed my hold : being a 
poor swimmer, I soon found myself sinking, but grasped a light 
oar that was floating by me. It was not sufficient for my sup- 
port : I again sank beneath the surface ; there was a rushing and 
bubbling sound in my ears, and all sense forsook me. 



How long I remained insensible, I know not. I had a con- 
fused notion of being moved and tossed about, and of hearing 
strange beings and strange voices around me ; but all was like a 
hideous dream. When I at length recovered full consciousness 
and perception, I found myself in bed, in a spacious chamber, 
furnished with more taste than I had been accustomed to. The 
bright rays of a morning sun were intercepted by curtains of a 
delicate rose color, that gave a soft, voluptuous tinge to every 
object. Not far from my bed, on a classic tripod, was a basket 
of beautiful exotic flowers, breathing the sweetest fragrance. 

" Where am I ? How came I here ? " 



a^ 



MOUNTJOY. Irs 

I tasked my mind to catch at some previous event, from which 
I might trace up the thread of existence to the present moment. 
By degrees I called to mind the fairy pinnace, my daring embar- 
cation, my adventurous voyage, and my disastrous shipwreck. 
Beyond that, all was chaos. How came I here ? What unknown 
region had I landed upon ? The people that inhab]*ted it must be 
gentle and amiable, and of elegant tastes, for they loved downy 
beds, fragrant flowers, and rose-colored curtains. 

While I lay thus musing, the tones of a harp reached my ear. 
Presently, they were accompanied by a female voice. It came 
from the room below ; but in the profound stillness of my chamber 
not a modulation was lost. My sisters were all considered good 
musicians, and sang very tolerably ; but I had never heard a voice 
like this. There was no attempt at difficult execution, or striking 
effect ; but there were exquisite inflexions, and tender turns, which 
art could not reach. Nothing but feeling and sentiment could 
produce them. It was soul breathed forth in sound. I was always 
alive to the influence of music : indeed, I was susceptible of vo- 
luptuous influences of every kind — sounds, colors, shapes, and 
fragrant odors. I was the very slave of sensation. 

I lay mute and breathless, and drank in every note of this 
siren strain. It thrilled through my whole frame, and filled my 
soul with melody and love. I pictured to myself, with curious 
logic, the form of the unseen musician. Such melodious sounds 
and exquisite inflexions could only be produced by organs of the 
most delicate flexibility. Such organs do not belong to coarse, 
vulgar forms; they are the harmonious results of fair propor- 
tions and admirable symmetry. A being so organized, must be 
lovely. 

4 



74 MOHNTJOY. 

Again my busy imagination was at work. I called to mind * 
the Arabian story of a prince, borne away during sleep by a good 
genius, to the distant abode of a princess, of ravishing beauty. I 
do not pretend to say that I believed in having experienced a similar 
transportation ; but it was my inveterate habit to cheat myself 
with fancies of the kind, and to give the tinge of illusion to sur- 
rounding realities. 

The witching sound had ceased, but its vibrations still played 
round my heart, and filled it with a tumult of soft emotions. At 
this moment, a self-upbraiding pang shot through my bosom. 
" Ah, recreant ! " a voice seemed to exclaim, " is this the stability 
of thine affections ? What ! hast thou so soon forgotten the 
nymph of the fountain ? Has one song, idly piped in thine ear, 
been sufficient to charm away the cherished tenderness of a whole 
Bummer ? " 

The wise may smile — ^but I am in a confiding mood, and must 
confess my weakness. I felt a degree of compunction at this 
sudden infidelity, yet I could not resist the power of present fasci- 
nation. My peace of mind was destroyed by conflicting claims. 
The nymph of the fountain came over my memory, with all the 
associations of fairy footsteps, shady groves, soft echoes, and wild 
streamlets ; but this new passion was produced by a strain of 
soul-subduing melody, still lingering in my ear, aided by a downy 
bed, fragrant flowers, and rose-colored curtains. "Unhappy 
youth ! " sighed I to myself, " distracted by such rival passions, 
and the empire of thy heart thus violently contested by the sound 
of a voice, and the print of a footstep ! " 



MOUNTJOY. 75 

I liad not remained long in this mood, when I heard the dooi 
of the room gently opened. I turned my head to see what inhab- 
itant of this enchanted palace should appear; whether page in 
green, hideous dwarf, or haggard fairy. It was my own man 
Scipio. He advanced with cautious step, and was delighted, as 
he said, to find me so much myself again. My first questions 
were as to where I was, and how I came there ? Scipio told me a 
long story of his having been fishing in a canoe, at the time of my 
hare-brained cruise ; of his noticing the gathering squall, and my 
impending danger ; of his hastening to join me, but arriving just 
in time to snatch me from a watery grave ; of the great difficulty 
in restoring me to animation ; and of my being subsequently con- 
veyed, in a state of insensibility, to this mansion. 

' ' But where am I ? " was the reiterated demand. 

" In the house of Mr. Somerville." 

" Somerville — Somerville ! " I recollected to have heard that 
a gentleman of that name had recently taken up his residence at 
some distance from my father's abode, on the opposite side of the 
Hudson. He was commonly known by the name of " French 
Somerville," from having passed part of his early life in France, 
and from his exhibiting traces of French taste in his mode of 
living, and the arrangements of his house. In fact, it was in 
his pleasure-boat, which had got adrift, that I had made my fan- 
ciful and disastrous cruise. All this was simple straight-forward 
matter of fact, and threatened to demolish all the cobweb romance 
I had been spinning, when fortunately I again heard the tinkling 
of a harp. I raised myself in bed, and listened. 

" Scipio," said I, with some little hesitation, " I heard some one 
singing just now. Who was it ? " 



76 



MOUNTJOY. 



*' Oh, that was Miss Julia." 

' Julia ! Julia ! Delightful ! what a name ! And, Scipio— is 
she-— is she pretty ? " 

Scipio grinned from ear to ear. " Except Miss Sophy, she was 
the most beautiful young lady he had ever seen." 

I should observe, that my sister Sophia was considered by all 
the servants a paragon of perfection. 

Scipio now offered to remove the basket of flowers ; he was 
afraid their odor might be too powerful ; but Miss Julia had given 
them that morning to be placed in my room. 

These flowers, then, had been gathered by the fairy fingers of 
my unseen beauty ; that sweet breath which had filled my ear with 
melody, had passed over them. I made Scipio hand them to me, 
culled several of the most delicate, and laid them on my bosom. 

Mr. Somerville paid me a visit not long afterward. He was 
an interesting study for me, for he was the father of my unseen 
beauty, and probably resembled her. I scanned him closely. He 
was a tall and elegant man, with an open, affable manner, and 
an erect and graceful carriage. His eyes were bluish-gray, and, 
though not dark, yet at times were sparkling and expressive. 
His hair was dressed and powdered, and being lightly combed up 
from his forehead, added to the loftiness of his aspect. He was 
fluent in discourse, but his conversation had the quiet tone of pol- 
ished society, without any of those bold flights of thought, and 
picturings of fancy, which I so much admired. 

My imagination was a little puzzled, at first, to make out of this 
assemblage of personal and mental qualities, a picture that should 
harmonize with my previous idea of the fair unseen. By dint, 
however, of selecting what it liked, and rejecting what it did not 



MOUNTJOT. T7 

like, and giving a touch here and a touch theK^, it soon finished 
out a satisfactory portrait. 

" Julia must be tall," thought I, " and of exquisite grace and 
dignity. She is not quite so courtly as her father, for she has 
been brought up in the retirement of the country. Neither is 
she of such vivacious deportment ; for the tones of her voice are 
soft and plaintive, and she loves pathetic music. She is rather pen- 
sive — ^yet not too pensive ; just what is called interesting. Her 
eyes are like her father's, except that they are of a purer blue, 
and more tender and languishing. She has light hair — ^not exact- 
ly flaxen, for I do not not like flaxen hair, but between that and 
auburn. In a word, she is a tall, elegant, imposing, languishing, 
blue-eyed, romantic-looking beauty." And having thus finished 
her picture, I felt ten times more in love with her than ever. 



I felt so much recovered, that I would at once have left my 
room, but Mr. Somerville objected to it. He had sent early word 
to my family of my safety ; and my father arrived in the course 
of the morning. He was shocked at learning the risk I had run, 
but rejoiced to find me so much restored, and was warm in his 
thanks to Mr. Somerville for his kindness. The other only re- 
quired, in return, that I might remain two or three days as his 
guest, to give time for my recovery, and for our forming a closer 
acquaintance; a request which my father readily granted. Scipi^ 
accordingly accompanied my father home, and returned with a sup 
ply of clothes, and with affectionate letters from my mother and 
sisters. 



78 MOUNTJOY. 

The next morning, aided by Scipio, I made my toilet with 
rather more care than usual, and descended the stairs, with some 
trepidation, eager to see the original of the portrait which had 
been so completely pictured in my imagination. 

On entering the parlor, I found it deserted. Like the rest of 
the house, it was furnished in a foreign style. The curtains were 
of French silk ; there were Grecian couches, marble tables, pier- 
glasses, and chandeliers. What chiefly attracted my eye, were 
documents of female taste that I saw around me ; a piano, with 
an ample stock of Italian music ; a book of poetry lying on the 
sofa ; a vase of fresh flowers on a table, and a portfolio open with 
a skilful and half-finished sketch of them. In the window was a 
Canary bird, in a gilt cage, and near by, the harp that had been 
in Julia's arms. Happy harp ! But where was the being that 
reigned in this little empire of delicacies ? — ^that breathed poetry 
and song, and dwelt among birds and flowers, and rose-colored 
curtains ? 

Suddenly I heard the hall door fly open, the quick pattering 
of light steps, a wild, capricious strain of music, and the shrill 
barking of a dog. A light frolic nymph of fifteen came tripping 
into the room, playing on a flageolet, with a little spaniel ramping 
after her. Her gypsy hat had fallen back upon her shoulders ; 
a profusion of glossy brown hair was blown in rich ringlets about 
her face, which beamed through them with the brightness of smiles 
and dimples. 

At sight of me, she stopped short, in the most beautiful con- 
fusion, stammered out a word or two about looking for her father, 
glided out of the door, and I heard her bounding up the stair- 
ease, like a frightened fawn, with the little dog barking after her. 



MOTJNTJOT. 79 

When Miss Somerville returned to the parlor, she was quite a 
different being. She entered, stealing along by her mother's side 
with noiseless step, and sweet timidity : her hair was prettily ad- 
justed, and a soft blush mantled on her damask cheek. Mr. Som- 
erville accompanied the ladies, and introduced me regularly to 
them. There were many kind inquiries, and much sympathy ex 
pressed on the subject of my nautical accident, and some remarks 
upon the wild scenery of the neighborhood, with which the ladies 
seemed perfectly acquainted. 

" You must know," said Mr. Somerville, " that we are great 
navigators, and delight in exploring every nook and corner of the 
river. My daughter, too, is a great hunter of the picturesque, 
and transfers every rock and glen to her portfolio. By the way, 
my dear, show Mr. Mountjoy that pretty scene you have lately 
sketched." Julia complied, blushing, and drew from her port- 
folio a colored sketch. I almost started at the sight. It was my 
favorite brook. A sudden thought darted across my mind. I 
glanced down my eye, and beheld the divinest little foot in the 
world. Oh, blissful conviction ! The struggle of my affections 
was at an end. The voice and the footstep were no longer at va- 
riance. Julia Somerville was the nymph of the fountain ! 



What conversation passed during breakfast, I do not recol- 
lect, and hardly was conscious of at the time, for my thoughts 
were in complete confusion. I wished to gaze on Miss Somerville, 
but did not dare. • Once, indeed, I ventured a glance. She was 
at that moment darting a similar one from under a covert of ring- 



80 MOUNTJOT. 

lets. Our eyes seemed shocked by the rencontre, and fell; hers 
through the natural modesty of her sex, mine through a bashfii!- 
ness produced by the previous workings of my imagination. That 
glance, however, went like a sunbeam to my heart. 

A convenient mirror favored my diffidence, and gave me tha 
reflection of Miss Somerville's form. It is true it only presented 
the back of her head, but she had the merit of an ancient statue ; 
contemplate her from any point of view, she was beautiful. And yet 
she was totally different from every thing I had before conceived 
of beauty. She was not the serene, meditative maid that I had pic- 
tured the nymph of the fountain ; nor the tall, soft, languishing, 
blue-eyed, dignified being, that I had fancied the minstrel of the 
harp. There was nothing of dignity about her : she was girlish 
in her appearance, and scarcely of the middle size ; but then there 
was the tenderness of budding youth ; the sweetness of the half- 
blown rose, when not a tint or perfume has been withered or ex- 
haled ; there were smiles and dimples, and all the soft witcheries 
of ever-varying expression. I wondered that I could ever have 
admired any other style of beauty. 

After breakfast, Mr. Somerville departed to attend to the con- 
cerns of his estate, and gave me in charge of the ladies. Mrs. 
Somerville also was called away by household cares, and I was 
left alone with Julia ! Here then was the situation which of all 
others I had most coveted. I was in the presence of the lovely 
being that had so long been the desire of my heart. We were 
alone ; propitious opportunity for a lover ! Did I sieze upon it ? 
Did I break out in one of my accustomed rhapsodies ? No such 
thing ! Never was being more awkwardly embarrassed. 

" What can be the cause of this ? " thought I. " Surely I can- 



MOUNTJOT. 81 

not stand in awe of this young girl. I am of course her superior 
in intellect, and am never embarrassed in company with my tutor 
notwithstanding all his wisdom." 

It was passing strange. I felt that if she were an old woman, 
I should be quite at my ease ; if she were even an ugly woman, 1 
should make out very well ; it was her beauty that overpowered 
me. How little do lovely women know what awful beings they 
are, in the eyes of inexperienced youth ! Young men brought up 
in the fashionable circles of our cities will smile at all this. Accus- 
tomed to mingle incessantly in female society, and to have the 
romance of the heart deadened by a thousand frivolous flirtations, 
women are nothing but women in their eyes ; but to a susceptible 
youth like myself, brought up in the country, they are perfect 
divinities. 

Miss Somerville was at first a little embarrassed herslf ; but, 
somehow or other, women have a natural adroitness in recovering 
their self-possession; they are more alert in their minds, and 
graceful in their manners. Besides, I a^as but an ordinary per- 
sonage in Miss Somerville's eyes ; she was not under the influence 
of such a singular course of imaginings as had surrounded her, 
in my eyes, with the illusions of romance. Perhaps, too, she saw 
the confusion in the opposite camp, and gained courage from the 
discovery. At any rate, she was the first to take the field. 

Her conversttion, however, was only on common-place topics, 
and in an easy, well-bred style. I endeavored to respond in the 
same manner ; but I was strangely incompetent to the task. My 
ideas were frozen up ; even words seemed to fail me. I was ex- 
cessively vexed at myself, for I wished to be uncommonly elegant, 
tried two or three times to turn a pretty thought, or to utter a 

4* 



82' MOUNTJOY. 

fine sentiment ; but it would come forth so trite, so forced, so 
mawkish, that I was ashamed of it. My very voice sounded dis- 
cordantly, though I sought to modulate it into the softest tones. 
" The truth is," thought I to myself, " I cannot bring my mind 
down to the small talk necessary for young girls ; it is too mascu- 
line and robust for the mincing measure of parlor gossip. I am 
a philosopher — and that accounts for it." 

The entrance of Mrs. Somerville at length gave me relief. I 
at once breathed freely, and felt a vast deal of confidence come 
over me. " This is strange," thought I, " that the appearance of 
another woman should revive my courage ; that I should be a 
better match for two women than one. However, since it is so, I 
will take advantage of the circumstance, and let this young lady 
see that I am not so great a simpleton as she probably thinks me." 

I accordingly took up the book of poetry which lay upon the 
fiofa. It was Milton's Paradise Lost. Nothing could have been 
more fortunate ; it afforded a fine scope for my favorite vein of 
grandiloquence. I went largely into a discussion of its merits, or 
rather an enthusiastic eulogy of them. My observations were ad- 
dressed to Mrs. Somerville, for I found I could talk to her with 
more ease than to her daughter. She appeared perfectly alive to 
the beauties of the poet, and disposed to meet me in the discus- 
eion ; but it was not my object to hear her talk ; it was to talk 
myself I anticipated all she had to say, overpowered her with 
the copiousness of my ideas, and supported and illustrated them 
by long citations from the author. 

While thus holding forth, I cast a side glance to see how Misa 
Somerville was affected. She had some embroidery stretched on 
a frame before her, but had paused in her labor, and was looking 



MOUNTJOY. 83 

down as if lost in mute attention. I felt a glow of self-satisfaction, 
but I recollected, at the same time, with a kind of pique, the advan- 
tage she had enjoyed over me in our tete-a-tete. I determined tc 
push my triumph, and accordingly kept on with redoubled ardor, 
until I had fairly exhausted my subject, or rather my thoughtij. 

I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss Somerville raised 
her eyes from the work on which they had been fixed, and turning 
to her mother, observed : " I have been considering, mamma, 
whether to work these flowers plain, or in colors." 

Had an ice-bolt been shot to my heart, it could not have chilled 
me more effectually. " What a fool," thought I, " have I beer 
making myself — squandering away fine thoughts, and fine language 
upon a light mind, and an ignorant ear ! This girl knows nothing 
of poetry. She has no soul, I fear, for its beauties. Can any one 
have real sensibility of heart, and not be alive to poetry ? How- 
ever, she is young : this part of her education has been neglected : 
there is time enough to remedy it. I will be her preceptor. I 
will kindle in her mind the sacred Hame, and lead her thi'ough the 
fairy land of song. But after all, it is rather unfortunate that I 
should have fallen in love with a woman who knows nothing of 
poetry." • 



I passed a day not altogether satisfactory. I was a little dis- 
appointed that Miss Somerville did not show more poetical feeling. 
" 1 am afraid, after all," said I to myself, "she is light and girl- 
ish, and more fitted to pluck wild flowers, play on the flageolet, 
and romp with little dogs, than to converse with a man of my turn." 

I believe, however, to tell the truth, I was more out of humor 
with myself I thought I had made the worst first appearance 



84 MOTTNTJOY. 

that ever hero made, either in novel or fairy tale. I was out of 
all patience, when I called to mind my awkward attempts at ease 
and elegance, in the tete-a-tete. And then my intolerable long 
lecture about poetry, to catch the applause of a heedless auditor ! 
But there I was not to blame. I had certainly been eloquent ; it 
was her fault that the eloquence was wasted. To meditate upon 
the embroidery of a flower, when I was expatiating on the beauties 
of Milton ! She might at least have admired the poetiy, if she 
did not relish the manner in which it was delivered ; though that 
was not despicable, for I had recited passages in my best style, 
which my mother and sisters had always considered equal to a 
play. " Oh, it is evident," thought I, " Miss Somerville has very 
little soul ! " 

Such were my fancies and cogitations, during the day, the 
greater part of which was spent in my chamber, for I was still 
languid. My evening was passed in the drawing-room, where I 
overlooked Miss Somerville's portfolio of sketches. They were 
executed with great taste, and showed a nice observation of the 
peculiarities of nature. They were all her own, and free from 
tho^e cunning tints and touches of the drawing-master, by which 
young ladies' drawings, like their heads, are dressed up for com- 
pany. There was no garish and vulgar trick of colors, either ; all 
was executed with singular truth and simplicity. 

" And yet," thought I, " this little being, who has so pure an 
eye to take in, as in a limpid brook, all the gi-aceful forms and 
magic tints of nature, has no soul for poeti*y ! " 

Mr Somerville toward the latter part of the evening, observ- 
ing my eye to wander occasionally to the harp, interpreted and 
met my wishes with his accustomed civility. 



MOTJNTJOT. 85 

" Julia, my dear," said he, " Mr. Mountjoy would like to hear 
a little music from your harp ; let us hear, too, the sound of your 
voice." 

Julia immediately complied, without any of that hesitation 
and difficulty, by which young ladies are apt to make the company 
pay dear for bad music. She sang a sprightly strain, in a 
brilliant style, that came trilling playfully over the ear; and the 
bright eye and dimpling smile showed that her little heart danced 
with the song. Her pet Canary bird, who hung close by, was 
wakened by the music, and burst forth into an emulating strain. 
Julia smiled with a pretty air of defiance, and played louder. 

After some time, the music changed, and ran into a plaintive 
strain, in a minor key. Then it was, that all the former witchery 
of her voice came over me ; then it was, that she seemed to sing 
from the heart and to the heart. Her fingers moved about the 
chords as if they scarcely touched them. Her whole manner and 
appearance changed; her eyes beamed with the softest expres- 
sion ; her countenance, her frame, all seemed subdued into tender- 
ness. She rose from the harp, leaving it still vibrating, with 
sweet sounds, and moved toward her father, to bid him good night. 

His eyes had been fixed on her intently, during her perform- 
ance. As she came before him, he parted her shining ringlets with 
both his hands, and looked down with the fondness of a father 
on her innocent face. The music seemed still lingering in its lin- 
eaments, and the action of her father brought a moist gleam in 
her eye. He kissed her fair forehead, after the French mode of 
parental caressing : " Good night, and God bless you," said he, 
" my good little girl ! " 

Julia tripped away, with a tear in her eye, a dimple in her 



S6 MOFNTJOY. 

cheek, and a light heart in her bosom. I thought it the prettiest 
picture of paternal and filial affection I had ever seen 

When I retired to bed, a new train of thoughts crowded into 
my brain. " After all," said I to myself, " it is clear this girl 
has a soul, though she was not moved by my eloquence. She has 
all the outward signs and evidences of poetic feeling. She paints 
well, and has an eye for nature. She is a fine musician, and 
enters into the very soul of song. What a pity that she knows 
nothing of poetry ! But we will see what is to be done. I am 
irretrievably in love with her ; what then am I to do ? Come 
down to the level of her mind, or endeavor to raise her to some 
kind of intellectual equality with myself ? That is the most gen- 
erous course. She will look up to me as a benefactor. I shall 
become associated in her mind with the lofty thoughts and har- 
monious graces of poetry. She is apparently docile : besides, the 
difference of our ages will give me an ascendency over her. She 
cannot be above sixteen years of age, and I am full turned of 
twenty." So, having built this most delectable of air-castles, I 
fell asleep. ' 



The next morning, I was quite a different being. I no longer 
felt fearful of stealing a glance at Julia ; on the contrary, I con- 
templated her steadily, with the benignant eye of a benefactor. 
Shortly after breakfast, I found myself alone with her, as I had 
on the preceding morning ; but I felt nothing of the awkwardness 
of our previous tete-a-tete. I was elevated by the consciousness 
of my intellectual superiority, and should almost have felt a sen- 
timent of pity for the ignorance of the lovely little being, if I had 



MOUNTJOY. 87 

not felt also the assurance that I should be able to dispel it 
"But it is time,' thought I, "to open school." 

Julia, was occupied in arranging some music on her piano. 
I looked over two or three songs; they were Moore's Irish 
melodies 

" These are pretty things," said I. flirting the leaves over 
lightly, and giving a slight shrug, by way of qualifying the opinion. 

"Oh, I love them of all things!" said Julia, "they're so 
touching ! " 

" Then you like them for the poetry," said I, with an encour- 
aging smile. 

" Oh yes ; she thought them charmingly written." 

Now was my time. " Poetry," said I, assuming a didactic 
attitude and air, " poetry is one of the most pleasing studies that 
can occupy a youthful mind. It renders us susceptible of the 
gentle impulses of humanity, and cherishes a delicate perception 
of all that is virtuous and elevated in morals, and graceful and 
beautiful in physics. It " 

I was going on in a style that would have graced a professor 
of rhetoric, when I saw a light smile playing about Miss Somer- 
ville's mouth, and that she began to turn over the leaves of a 
music book. I recollected her inattention to my discourse of the 
preceding morning. " There is no fixing her light mind," thought 
I, "by abstract theory; we will proceed practically." As it hap- 
pened, the identical volume of Milton's Paradise Lost was lying 
at hand. 

" Let me recommend to you, my young friend," said I, in one 
of those tones of persuasive admonition, which I had so often 
loved in Glencoe — " let me recommend to you this admirable 



88 MOUNTJOT. 

poem : you will find in it sources of intellectual enjoyment fai 
superior to tliose songs which have delighted you." Julia looked 
at the book, and then at me, with a whimsically dubious air. 
" Milton's Paradise Lost ? " said she ; " oh, I know the greater 
Dart of that by heart." 

I had not expected to find my pupil so far advanced ; however, 
the Paradise Lost is a kind of school book, and its finest passages 
are given to young ladies as tasks. 

" I find," said I to myself, " I must not treat her as so com- 
plete a novice ] her inattention, yesterday, could not have pro- 
ceeded from absolute ignorance, but merely from a want of poetic 
feeling. I'll try her again." 

I now determined to dazzle her with my own erudition, and 
launched into a harangue that would have done honor to an insti- 
tute. Pope, Spenser, Chaucer, and the old dramatic writers, were 
all dipped into, with the excursive flight of a swallow. I did not 
confine myself to English poets, but gave a glance at the French 
and Italian schools : I passed over Ariosto in full wing, but 
paused on Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered. I dwelt on the character 
of Clorinda : " There's a character," said I, " that you will find 
well worthy a woman's study. It shows to what exalted heights 
of heroism the sex can rise ; how gloriously they may share even 
in the stern concerns of men." 

" For my part," said Julia, gently taking advantage of a 
pause — " for my part, I prefer the character of Sophronia." 

I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso ! This girl 
that I had been treating as an ignoramus in poetry ! She prO' 
eeeded, with a slight glow of the cheek, summoned up perhaps bj 
a casual glow of feeling : 



MomfTJOT. 89 

" I do not admire those masculine heroines," said she, " who 
aim at the bold qualities of the opposite sex. Now Sophronia 
only exhibits the real qualities of a woman, wrought up to their 
highest excitement. She is modest, gentle, and retiring, as it 
becomes a woman to be ; but she has all the strength of affection 
proper to a woman. She cannot fight for her people, as Clorinda 
does, but she can offer herself up, and die, to serve them. You 
may admire Clorinda, but you surely would be more apt to love 
Sophronia ; at least," added she, suddenly appearing to recollect 
herself, and blushing at having launched into such a discussion, 
*' at least, that is what papa observed, when we read the poem 
together." 

" Indeed," said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted and nettled at 
being unexpectedly lectured by my pupil — " indeed, I do not ex- 
actly recollect the passage." 

" Oh," said Julia, " I can repeat it to you ; " and she imme- 
diately gave it in Italian. 

Heavens and earth ! — here was a situation ! I knew no more 
of Italian than I did of the language of Psalmanazar. What a 
dilemma for a would-be-wise man to be placed in ! I saw Julia 
waited for my opinion. 

" In fact," said I, hesitating, " I — I do not exactly under- 
stand Italian." 

" Oh," said Julia, with the utmost naivete, " I have no doubt 
it is very beautiful in the translation." 

I was glad to break up school, and get back to my chamber, 
full of the mortification which a wise man in love experiences on 
finding his mistress wiser than himself. " Translation ! transla- 
tion ! " muttered I to myself, as I jerked the door shut behind 



90 MOUNTJOY. 

me . "I am surprised my father has never had me instructed in 
the modern languages. They are all-important. What is the use 
of Latin and Greek ? No one speaks them ; but here, the moment 
T make my appearance in the world, a little girl slaps Italian in 
my face. However, thank Heaven, a language is easily learned. 
The moment I return home, I'll set about studying Italian ; and to 
prevent future surprise, I will study Spanish and G-erman at the 
same time ; and if any young lady attempts to quote Italian upon 
me again, I'll bury her under a heap of High Dutch poetry !" 

I felt now like some mighty chieftain, who has carried the war 
into a weak country, with full confidence of success, and been re- 
pulsed and obliged to draw off his forces from before some incon- 
siderable fortress. 

" However," thought I, " I have as yet brought only my light 
artillery into action ; we shall see what is to be done with my 
heavy ordnance. Julia is evidently well versed in poetry ; but 
it is natural she should be so ; it is allied to painting and music, 
and is congenial to the light graces of the female character. We 
will try her on graver themes." 

I felt all my pride awakened; it even for a time swelled higher 
than my love. I was determined completely to establish my 
mental superiority, and subdue the intellect of this little being : 
it would then be time to sway the sceptre of gentle empire, and 
win the affections of her heart. 

Accordingly, at dinner I again took the field, en potence. I 
now addressed myself to Mr. Somerville, for I was about to enter 
upon topics in which a young girl like her could not be well versed 
I led, or rather forced, the conversation into a vein of historical 
erudition, discussing several of the most prominent facts of ancient 



MOUNTJOY. 91 

history and accompanying them with sound, indisputable apo- 
thegms. 

Mr, Somerville listened to me with the air of a man receiving 
imformation. I was encouraged, and went on gloriously from 
theme to theme of school declamation. I sat with Marius on the 
ruins of Carthage ; I defended the bridge with Horatius Codes •, 
thrust my hand into the flame with Martins Scsevola, and plunged 
with Curtius into the yawning gulf; I fought side by side with 
Leonidas, at the straits of Thermopylas ; and was going full drive 
mto the battle of Platsea, when my memory, which is the worst in 
the world, failed me, just as I wanted the name of the Lacedemo- 
aian commander. 

" Julia, my dear," said Mr. Somerville, " perhaps you may 
recollect the name of which Mr. Mountjoy is in quest?" 

Julia colored slightly : " I believe," said she, in a low voice, 
— " I believe it was Pausanias." 

This unexpected sally, instead of reinforcing me, threw my 
whole scheme of battle into confusion, and the Athenians remain- 
ed unmolested in the field. 

I am half inclined, since, to think Mr. Somerville meant this 
as a sly hit at my school-boy pedantry ; but he was too well bred 
not to seek to relieve me from my mortification. " Oh ! " said he, 
" Julia is our family book of reference for names, dates, and dis- 
tances, and has an excellent memory for history and geography." 

I now became desperate ; as a last resource, I turned to meta- 
physics. " If she is a philosopher in petticoats," thought I, " it 
is all over with me." 

Here, however, I had the field to myself I gave chapter and 
verse of my tutor's lectures, heightened by all his poetical illus- 



92 MOUNTJOY. 

trations: I even went farther than he had ever ventured, and 
plunged into such depths of metaphysics, that I was in danger of 
sticking in the mire at the bottom. Fortunately, I had auditors 
who apparently could not detect my flounderings. Neither Mr. 
Somerville nor his daughter offered the least interruption. 

When the ladies had retired, Mr. Somerville sat some time 
with me ; and as I was no longer anxious to astonish, I permitted 
myself to listen, and found that he was really agreeable. He was 
quite communicative, and from his conversation I was enabled to 
form a juster idea of his daughter's character, and the mode in 
which she had been brought up. Mr. Somerville had mingled 
much with the world, and with what is termed fashionable society. 
He had experienced its cold elegancies, and gay insincerities ; its 
dissipation of the spirits, and squanderings of the heart. Like 
many men of the world, though he had wandered too far from 
nature ever to return to it, yet he had the good taste and good 
feeling to look back fondly to its simple delights, and to determine 
that his child, if possible, should never leave them. He had su- 
perintended her education with scrupulous care, storing her mind 
with the graces of polite literature, and with such knowledge as 
would enable it to furnish its own amusement and occupation, 
and giving her all the accomplishments that sweeten and enliven 
the circle of domestic life. He had been particularly sedulous to 
exclude all fashionable affectations ; all false sentiment, false sen- 
sibility, and false romance. " Whatever advantages she may pos- 
sess," said he, " she is quite unconscious of them. She is a ca- 
pricious little being, in every thing but her affections; she is, 
however, free from art : simple, ingenuous, innocent, amiable, and 
1 thank Grod ! happy." 



MOUNTJOY. 93 

Such was the eulogy of a fond father, delivered wiih a tender- 
ness that touched me. I could not help making a casual inquiry 
whether, among the graces of polite literature, he had included a 
slight tincture of metaphysics. He smiled, and told me he had 
not. 

On the whole, when, as usual', that night, I summed up the 
day's observations on my pillow, I was not altogether dissatisfied. 
" Miss Som.erville," said I, " loves poetry, and I like her the bet- 
ter for it. She has the advantage of me in Italian : agreed ; what 
is it to know a variety of languages, but merely to have a variety 
of sounds to express the same idea ? Original thought is the ore 
of the mind ; language is but the accidental stamp and coinage, 
by which it is put into circulation. If I can furnish an original 
idea, what care I how many languages she can translate it into ? 
She may be able, also, to quote names, and dates, and latitudes, 
better than I ; but that is a mere effort of the memory. I admit 
she is more accurate in history and geography than I ; but then 
she knowf! nothing of metaphysics.'' 

I had now sufficiently recovered, to return home ; yet I 
could nob think of leaving Mr. Somerville's, without having a 
little farther conversation with him on the subject of his daughter's 
education. 

" This Mr. Somerville," thought I, " is a very accomplished, 
elegant man ; he has seen a good deal of the world, and, upon the 
whole, has profited by what he has seen. He is not without in- 
formation, andf^ as far as he thinks, appears to think correctly; 
but after all, he is rather superficial, and does not think pro- 
foundly. He seems to take no delight in those metaphysical 
abstjactions, that are the proper aliment of masculine minds I 



94 MOTJNTJOT. 

called to mind various occasions in wtich I had indulged largely 
in metaphysical discussions, but could recollect no instance where 
I had been able to draw him out. He had listened, it is true, 
with attention, and smiled as if in acquiescence, but had always 
appeared to avoid reply. Besides, I had made several sad blunders 
in the glow of eloquent declamation ; but he had never interrupted 
me, to notice and correct them, as he would have done had he 
been versed in the theme. 

" Now it is really a great pity," resumed I, " that he should 
have the entire management of Miss Somerville's education. 
What a vast advantage it would be, if she could be put for a little 
time under the superintendence of Grlencoe. He would throw 
some deeper shades of thought into her mind, which at present is 
all sunshine ; not but that Mr. Somerville has done very well, as 
far as he has gone ; but then he has merely prepared the soil for 
the strong plants of useful knowledge. She is well versed in the 
leading facts of history, and the general course of belles-lettres," 
said I; " a little more philosophy would do wonders." 

I accordingly took occasion to ask Mi'. Somerville for a few 
moments' conversation in his study, the morning I was to depart. 
"When we were alone, I opened the matter fully to him. I com- 
menced with the warmest eulogium of Glencoe's powers of mind, 
and vast acquirements, and ascribed to him all my proficiency in 
the higher branches of knowledge. I begged, therefore, to recom- 
mend him as a friend calculated to direct the studies of Miss 
Somerville ; to lead her mind, by degrees to the coyatemplation of 
abstract principles, and to produce habits of philosophical analy- 
sis ; " which," added I, gently smiling, " are not often cultivated 
by young ladies. " I ventured to hint, in addition, that he would 



MOTJNTJOY. 95 

find Mr. Glencoe a most valuable and interesting acquaintance for 
himself; one who would stimulate and evolve the powers of his 
mind ; and who might open to him tracts of inquiry and specula- 
tion, to which perhaps he had hitherto been a stranger. 

Mr. Somerville listened with grave attention. When I had 
finished, he thanked me in the politest manner for the interest I 
took in the welfare of his daughter and himself He observed 
that, as regarded himself, he was afraid he was too old to 
benefit by the instructions of Mr. Grieneoe, and that as to his 
daughter, he was afraid her mind was but little fitted for the 
study of metaphysics. " I do not wish," continued he, " to strain 
her intellects with subjects they cannot grasp, but to make her 
familiarly acquainted with those that are within the limits of her 
capacity. I do not pretend to prescribe the boundaries of female 
genius, and am far from indulging the vulgar opinion, that women 
are unfitted by nature for the highest intellectual pursuits. I speak 
only with reference to my daughter's taste and talents. She will 
never make a learned woman ; nor in truth do I desire it ; for 
such is the jealousy of our sex, as to mental as well as physical 
ascendency, that a learned woman is not always the happiest. I 
do not wish my daughter to excite envy, nor to battle with the 
prejudices of the world ; but to glide peaceably through life, on 
the good will and kind opinion of her friends. She has ample 
employment for her little head, in the course I have marked out 
for her ; and is busy at present with some branches of natural 
history, calculated to awaken her perceptions to the beauties and 
wonders of nature, and to the inexhaustible volume of wisdom 
constantly spread open before her eyes. I consider that woman 
most likely to make an agreeable companion, who can draw topics 



9G MOUNTJOY. 

of pleasing remark from every natural object ; and most likely to 
be cheerful and contented, who is continually sensible of the orderj 
the harmony, and the invariable beneficence, that reign through- 
out the beautiful world we inhabit." 

" But," added he, smiling, " I am betraying myself into a 
lecture, instead of merely giving a reply to your kind offer. Per- 
mit me to take the liberty, in return, of inquiring a little about 
your own pursuits. You speak of having finished your education ; 
but of course you have a line of private study and mental occupa- 
tion marked out; for you must know the importance, both in 
point of interest and happiness, of keeping the mind employed. 
May I ask what system you observe in your intellectual exer- 
eips?" 

" Oh, as to system," I observed, " I could never bring myself 
mto any thing of the kind. I thought it best to let my genius 
take its own course, as it always acted the most vigorously when 
stimulated by inclination." 

Mr. Somerville shook his head. " This same genius," said he, 
" is a wild quality, that runs away with our most promising young 
men. It has become so much the fashion, too, to give it the 
reins, that it is now thought an animal of too noble and generous 
a nature to be brought to the harness. But it is all a mistake. 
Nature never designed these high endowments to run riot through 
society, and throw the whole system into confusion. No, my dear 
sir : genius, unless it acts upon system, is very apt to be a useless 
quality to society ; sometimes an injurious, and certainly a very 
uncomfortable one, to its possessor. I have had many opportu- 
nities of seeing the progress through life of young men who were 
accounted geniuses, and have found it too often end in early ex- 



MOUNTJOY. 9T 

haustion and bitter disappointmeBt ; and have as often noticed 
that these effects might be traced to a total want of system. 
There were no habits of business, of steady purpose, and regular 
application, superinduced upon the mind ; every thing was left to 
chance and impulse, and native luxuriance, and every thing of 
course ran to waste and wild entanglement. Excuse me, if I am 
tedious on this point, for I feel solicitous to impress it upon 
you, being an error extremely prevalent in our country, and one 
into which too many of our youth have fallen. I am happy, how- 
ever, to observe the zeal which still appears to actuate you for 
the acquisition of knowledge, and augur every good from the ele- 
vated bent of your ambition. May I ask what has been your 
course of study for the last six months ? " 

Never was question more unluckily timed. For the last six 
months I had been absolutely buried in novels and romances. 

Mr. Somerville perceived that the question was embarrassing, 
and with his invariable good breeding, immediately resumed the 
conversation, without waiting for a reply. He took care, however, 
to turn it in such a way as to draw from me an account of the 
whole manner in which I had been educated, and the various cur- 
rents of reading into which my mind had run. He then went on 
to discuss briefly, but impressively, the different branches of 
knowledge most important to a young man in my situation ; and 
to my surprise I found him a complete master of those studies on 
which I had supposed him ignorant, and on which I had been de- 
scanting so confidently. 

He complimented me, however, very graciously, upon the pro- 
gress I had made, but advised me for the present to turn my at- 
tention to the physical rather than the moral sciences. " These 

5 



98 MOUNTJOY. 

studies," said he, " store a man's mind with valuable facts, and at 
the same time repress self-confidence, by letting him know how 
boundless are the realms of knowledge, and how little we can pos- 
sibly know. Whereas metaphysical studies, though of an ingen- 
ious order of intellectual employment, are apt to bewilder some 
minds with vague speculations. They never know how far they 
have advanced, or what may be the correctness of their favorite 
theory. They render many of our young men verbose and decla- 
matory, and prone to mistake the aberrations of their fancy for 
the inspirations of divine philosophy." 

I could not but interrupt him, to assent to the truth of these 
remarks, and to say that it had been my lot, in the course of my 
limited experience, to encounter young men of the kind, who had 
overwhelmed me by their verbosity. 

Mr. Somerville smiled. " I trust," said he, kindly, " that you 
will guard against these errors. Avoid the eagerness with which 
a young man is apt to hurry into conversation, and to utter the 
crude and ill-digested notions which he has picked up in his re- 
cent studies. Be assured that extensive and accurate knowledge 
is the slow acquisition of a studious lifetime ; that a young man, 
however pregnant his wit, and prompt his talent, can have master- 
ed but the rudiments of learning, and, in a manner, attained the 
implements of study. Whatever may have been your past assi- 
duity, you must be sensible that as yet you have but reached the 
threshold of true knowledge ; but at the same time, you have the 
advantage that you are still very young, and have ample time to 
learn." 

Here our conference ended. I walked out of the study, a very 
^Ufferent being from what I was on entering it. I had gone in 



MOUNTJOY. .99 

witli tlie air of a professor about to deliver a lecture ; I came out 
like a student, who had failed in his examination, and been de- 
graded in his class. 

" Very young," and " on the threshold of knowledge! " This 
was extremely flattering, to one who had considered himself an 
accomplished scholar, and profound philosopher ! 

" It is singular," thought I ; " there seems to have been a spell 
upon my faculties, ever since I have been in this house. I cer- 
tainly have not been able to do myself justice. Whenever I 
have undertaken to advise, I have had the tables turned upon me. 
It must be that I am strange and diffident among people I am 
not accustomed to. I wish they could hear me talk at home ! " 

" After all," added I, on farther reflection, — " after all, there is 
a great deal of force in what Mr. Somerville has said. Some 
how or other, these men of the world do now and then hit upon 
remarks that would do credit to a philosopher. Some of his 
general observations came so home, that I almost thought they 
were meant for myself. His advice about adopting a system of 
study, is very judicious. I will immediately put it in practice. 
My mind shall operate henceforward with the regularity of clock- 
work." 

How far I succeeded in adopting this plan, how I fared in the 
farther pursuit of knowledge, and how I succeeded in my suit to 
Julia SomervUle, may afibrd matter for a farther communication 
to the public, if this simple record of my early life is fortunate 
enough to excite any curiosity. 



THE BERMUDAS. 

A SHAKSPEARIAN RESKARCH. 

" Who did not think, till within these fouro yeares,but tliat these islands had been rather 
a habitation for Divells, than fit for men to dwell in ? "Who did not hate the name, when 
hee was on land, and shun the place when he was on the seas ? But behold the misprision 
and conceits of the world ! For true and large experience hath now told us, it is one of the 
sweetest paradises that bo upon earth." 

"A Plaine Descript. of the Baemudas:" 1613. 

In tlie course of a voyage home from England, our ship had 
been struggling, for two or three weeks, with perverse head-winds, 
and a stormy sea. It was in the month of. May, yet the weather 
had at times a wintry sharpness, and it was apprehended that we 
were in the neighborhood of floating islands of ice, which at that 
season of the year drift out of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and 
sometimes occasion the wreck of noble ships. 

Wearied out by the continued opposition of the elements, our 
captain bore away to the south, in hopes of catching the expiring 
breath of the trade-winds, and making what is called the southern 
passage. A few days wrought, as it were, a magical " sea change " 
in every thing around us. We seemed to emerge into a different 
world. The late dark and angry sea, lashed up into roaring and 
swashing surges, became calm and sunny; the rude winds died 



THE BEEMUDA8. 101 

away • and gradually a light breeze sprang up directly aft, j&lling 
out every sail, and wafting us smoothly along on an even keel. 
The air softened into a bland and delightful temperature. Dol- 
phins began to play about us ; the nautilus came floating by, like 
a fairy ship, with its mimic sail and rainbow tints ; and flying- 
fish, from time to time, made their short excursive flights, and 
occasionally fell upon the deck. The cloaks and overcoats in 
which we had hitherto wrapped ourselves, and moped about the 
vessel, were thrown aside ; for a summer warmth had succeeded 
to the late wintry chills. Sails were stretched as awnings over 
the quarter-deck, to protect us from the mid-day sun. Under 
these we lounged away the day, in luxurious indolence, musing, 
with half-shut eyes, upon the quiet ocean. The night was scarcely 
less beautiful than the day. The rising moon sent a quivering 
column of silver along the undulating surface of the deep, and, 
gradually climbing the heaven, lit up our towering topsails and 
swelling mainsails, and spread a pale, mysterious light around. 
As our ship made her whispering way through this dreamy world 
of waters, every boisterous sound on board was charmed to 
silence ; and the low whistle, or drowsy song, of a sailor from the 
forecastle, or the tinkling of a guitar, and the soft warbling of a 
female voice fi'om the quarter-deck, seemed to derive a witching 
melody from the scene and hour. I was reminded of Oberon'a 
exquisite description of musio and moonlight on the ocean : 

" Thou rememberest 

Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's bacjr, 
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
That the rude sea grew civil at her song; 



102 THE BEKMUDAS. 

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
To hear the sea-maid's music." 

Indeed, I was in the very mood to conjure up all the imagi- 
nary beings with which poetry has peopled old ocean, and almost 
ready to fancy I heard the distant song of the mermaid, or the 
mellow shell of the triton, and to picture to myself Neptune and 
Amphitrite with all their pageant sweeping along the dim horizon. 

A day or two of such fanciful voyaging, brought us in sight 
of the Bermudas, which first looked like mere summer clouds, 
peering above the quiet ocean. All day we glided along in sight 
of them, with just wind enough to fill our sails; and never did 
land appear more lovely. They were clad in emerald verdure, be- 
neath the serenest of skies : not an angry wave broke upon their 
quiet shores, and small fishing craft, riding on the crystal waves, 
seemed as if hung in air. It was such a scene that Fletcher pictur- 
ed to himself, when he extolled the halcyon lot of the fisherman : 

Ah I would thou knewest how much it better were 

To bide among the simple fisher-swains : 
No shrieking owl, no night-crow lodgeth here, 

Nor is our simple pleasure mixed with pains. 
Our sports begin -with, the beginning year ; 
In calms, to pull the leaping fish to land. 
In roughs, to sing and dance along the yellow sand. 

In contemplating these beautiful islands, and the peaceful sea 
around them, I could hardly realize that these were the " still 
vexed Bermoothes " of Shakspeare, once the dread of mariners, 
and infamous in the narratives of the early discoverers, for the 
dangers and disasters which beset them. Such, however, was the 



THE BERMUDAS. 103 

case ; and the islands derived additional interest in my eyes, from 
fancying that I could trace in their early history, and in the super- 
stitious notions connected with them, some of the elements of 
Shakspeare's wild and beautiful drama of the Tempest. I shall 
take the liberty of citing a few historical facts, in support of this 
idea, which may claim some additional attention from the Ameri- 
can reader, as being connected with the first settlement of Virginia. 

At the time when Shakspeare was in the fulness of his talent, 
and seizing upon every thing that could furnish aliment to his im- 
agination, the colonization of Yirginia was a favorite object of 
enterprise among people of condition in England, and several of 
the courtiers of the court of Queen Elizabeth were personally en- 
gaged in it. In the year 1609, a noble armament of nine ships 
and five hundred men sailed for the relief of the colony. It waa 
commanded by Sir George Somers, as admiral, a gallant and gen- 
erous gentleman, above sixty years of age, and possessed of an 
ample fortune, yet still bent upon hardy enterprise, and ambitious 
of signalizing himself in the service of his country. 

On board of his flag-ship, the Sea- Vulture, sailed also Sir 
Thomas Gates, lieutenant-general of the colony. The voyage was 
long and boisterous. On the twenty-fifth of July, the admiral's 
ship was separated from the rest in a hurricane. For several 
days she was driven about at the mercy of the elements, and so 
strained and racked, that her seams yawned open, and her hold 
was half filled with water. The storm subsided, but left her a 
mere foundering wreck. The crew stood in the hold to their 
waists in water, vainly endeavoring to bail her with kettles, 
buckets, and other vessels. The leaks rapidly gained on them, 
while their strength was as rapidly declining. They lost all hope 



104 THE BEEMUDAS. 

of keeping the ship afloat, until they should reach the American 
coast ; and wearied with fruitless toil, determined, in their despair^ 
to give up all farther attempt, shut down the hatches, and abandon 
themselves to Providence. Some, who had spirituous liquors, or 
" comfortable waters," as the old record quaintly terms them^ 
brought them forth, and shared them with their comrades, and 
they all drank a sad farewell to one another, as men who were 
soon to part company in this world. 

In this moment of extremity, the worthy admiral, who kept 
sleepless watch from the high stern of the vessel, gave the thrill- 
ing cry of " land ! " All rushed on deck, in a frenzy of joy, and 
nothing now was to be seen or heard on board, but the transports 
of men who felt as if rescued from the grave. It is true the land 
in sight would not, in ordinary circumstances, have inspired much 
self-gratulation. It could be nothing else but the group of isl- 
ands called after their discoverer, one Juan Bermudas, a Span- 
iard, but stigmatized among the mariners of those days as " the 
islands of devils ! " " For the islands of the Bermudas," says 
the old narrative of this voyage, " as every man knoweth that 
hath heard or read of them, were never inhabited by any chris- 
tian or heathen people, but were ever esteemed and reputed a 
most prodigious and inchanted place, affording nothing but gusts, 
stormes, and foul weather, which made every navigator and mari- 
ner to avoide them as Scylla and Charybdis, or as they would 
shun the Divell himself" * 

Sir George Somers and his tempest-tossed comrades, however, 
hailed them with rapture, as if they had been a terrestrial para- 
dise. Every sail was spread, and every exertion made to urge 
* " A Plaine Description of the Barmudas." 



THE BERMUDAS. 105' 

the foundering ship to land. Before long, she struck upon a rock. 
Fortunately, the lato stormy winds had subsided, and there was 
no surf. A swelling wave lifted her from off the rock, and bore 
her to another ; and thus she was borne on from rock to rock, 
until she remained wedged between two, as firmly as if set upon 
the stocks. The boats were immediately lowered, and, though 
Xhe shore was above a mile distant, the whole crew were lauded 
in safety. 

Every one had now his task assigned him. Some made all 
haste to unload the ship, before she should go to pieces ; some 
constructed wigwams of palmetto leaves, and others ranged the 
island in quest of wood and water. To their surprise and joy, 
they found it far different from the desolate and frightful place 
they had been taught by seamen's stories to expect. It was well 
wooded and fertile; there were birds of various kinds, and herds 
of swine roaming about, the progeny of a number that had swum 
ashore, in former years, from a Spanish wreck. The island 
abounded with turtle, and great quantities of their eggs were to 
be found among the rocks. The bays and inlets were full of fish ; 
so tame, that if any one stepped into the water, they would, 
throng around him. Sir George Somers, in a little while, caught 
enough with hook and line to furnish a meal to his whole ship's 
company. Some of them were so large, that two were as much 
as a man could carry. Craw-fish, also, were taken in abundance. 
The air was soft and salubrious, and the sky beautifully serene. 
Waller, in his " Summer Islands, ' has given us a faithful picture 
of the climate : 

" For the kind spring, (which but salutes us here,) 

Inhabits these, and courts them all the year: 
5* 



106 THE BERMUDAS, 

Ripe firoiits and blossoms on the same trees live ; 
Alt once tltey promise, and at once they give : 
So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncursed. 
To show how all things were created first." 

W3 may imagine the feelings of the shipwrecked mariners, on 
Undmg themselves cast by stormy seas upon so happy a coast • 
where abundance was to be had without labor ; where what in 
other climes constituted the costly luxuries of the rich, were with- 
in every man's reach ; and where life promised to be a mere holi- 
day. Many of the common sailors, especially, declared they de- 
sired no better lot than to pass the rest of their lives on this fa- 
vored island. 

The commanders, however, were not so ready to console them- 
selves with mere physical comforts, for the severance from the 
enjoyment of cultivated life, and all the objects of honorable am- 
bition. Despairing of the arrival of any chance ship on these 
shunned and dreaded islands, they fitted out the long-boat, mak- 
. ing a deck of the ship's hatches, and having manned her with 
eight picked men, despatched her, under the command of an able 
and hardy mariner, named Raven, to proceed to Virginia, and 
procure shipping to be sent to their relief. 

While waiting in anxious idleness for the arrival of the looked- 
for aid, dissensions arose between Sir George Somers and Sir 
Thomas Gates, originating, very probably, in jealousy of the lead 
which the nautical experience and professional station of the ad- 
miral gave him in the present emergency. Each commander of 
course had his adherents ' these dissensions ripened into a com- 



THE BERMUDAS , lOf 

plete schism ; and this handful of shipwrecked men, thus thrown 
together on an uninhabited island, separated into two parties, and 
lived asunder in bitter feud, as men rendered fickle by prosperity, 
instead of being brought into brotherhood by a common calamity. 

Weeks and months elapsed, without bringing the looked-for 
aid from Virginia, though that colony was within but a few da} s 
sail. Fears were now entertained that the long-boat had been 
either swallowed up in the sea, or wrecked on some savage coast ; 
one or other of which most probably was the case, as nothing was 
ever heard of Raven and his comrades. 

Each party now set to work to build a vessel for itself out of 
the cedar with which the island abounded. The wreck of the 
Sea- Vulture furnished rigging, and various other articles ; but 
they had no iron for bolts, and other fastenings ; and for want of 
pitch and tar, they payed the seams of their vessels with lime and 
turtle's oil, which soon dried, and became as hard as stone. 

On the tenth of may, 1610, they set sail, having been about 
nine months on the island. They reached Virginia without far- 
ther accident, but found the colony in great distress for provisions. 
The account that they gave of the abundance that reigned in the 
Bermudas, and especially of the herds of swine that roamed the 
island, determined Lord Delaware, the governor of Virginia, to 
send thither for supplies. Sir George Somers, with his wonted 
promptness and generosity, offered to undertake what was still 
considered a dangerous voyage. Accordingly on the nineteenth 
of June, he set sail, in his own cedar vessel of thirty tons, ac- 
companied by another small vessel, commanded by Captain Ar- 
galL 

The gallant Somers was doomed again to be tempest- tossed- 



108 THE BEEMUDAS. 

His companion vessel was soon driven back to port, but he kept 
the sea ; and, as usual, remained at his post on deck, in all wea- 
thers. His voyage was long and boisterous, and the fatigues and 
exposures which he underwent, were too much for a frame impair- 
ed by age, and by previous hardships. He arrived at Bermudas 
completely exhausted and broken down.. 

His nephew, Captain Matthew Somers, attended him in his 
illness with affectionate assiduity. Finding his end approaching, 
the veteran called his mea together, and exhorted them to be true 
to the interests of Virginia ; to procure provisions, with all pos- 
sible despatch, and hasten back to the relief of the colony. 

With this dying charge, he gave up the ghost, leaving his ne- 
phew and crew overwhelmed with grief and consternation. Their 
first thought was to pay honor to his remains. Opening the body, 
they took out the heart and entrails, and buried them, erecting a 
cross over the grave. They then embalmed the body, and set sail 
with it for England ; thus, while paying empty honors to their 
deceased commander, neglecting his earnest wish and dying in- 
junction, that they should return with relief to Virginia. 

The little bark arrived safely at Whitechurch in Dorsetshire, 
with its melancholy freight. The body of the worthy Somers 
was interred with the military honors due to a brave soldier, and 
many volleys fired over his grave. The Bermudas have since re- 
ceived the name of the Somer Islands, as a tribute to his me- 
mory. 

The accounts given by Captain Matthew Somers and his crew 
of the delightful climate, and the great beauty, fertility, and 
abundance of these islands, excited the zeal of enthusiasts, and 
the cupidity of speculators, and a plan was set on foot to colonize 



THE EEEMUDAS. 109 

them. The Virginia compauy sold their right to the islands to 
one hundred and twenty of their own members, who erected 
themselves into a distinct corporation, under the name of the " So- 
mer Island Society ; " and Mr. Richard More was sent out, in 
1612, as governor, with sixty men, to found a colony: and this 
eads me to the second branch of this research. 



THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA. 

AND THEIK TREASUEE OF AlBBEEGEIS. 

At the time that Sir George Somers was preparing to launch 
his cedar-built bark, and sail for Virginia, there were three cul- 
prits among his men, who had been guilty of capital offences. 
One of them was shot; the others, named Christopher Carter 
and Edward Waters, escaped. "Waters, indeed, made a very nar- 
row escape, for he had actually been tied to a tree to be executed, 
but cut the rope with a knife, which he had concealed about his 
person, and fled to the woods, where he was joined by Carter. 
These two worthies kept themselves concealed in the secret parts 
of the island, until the departure of the two vessels. When Sir 
George Somers revisited the island, in quest of supplies for the 
Virginia colony, these culprits hovered about the landing-place, 
and succeeded in persuading another seaman, named Edward 
Chard, to join them, giving him the most seductive picture of the 
ease and abundance in which they revelled. 

When the bark that bore Sii George's body to England had 
faded from the watery horizon, these three vagabonds walked 
forth in their majesty and might, the lords and sole inhabitants 



110 TEGE BERMUDAS. 

of these islands. For a time their little commonwealth went on 
prosperously and happily. They built a house, sowed corn, and 
the seeds of various fruits ; and having plenty of hogs, wild fowl, 
and fish of all kinds, with turtle in abundance, carried on their 
tripartite sovereignty with great harmony and much feasting. All 
kingdoms, however, are doomed to revolution, convulsion, or de 
cay ; and so it fared with the empire of the three kings of Ber- 
muda, albeit they were monarchs without subjects. In an evil 
hour, in their search after turtle, among the fissures of the rocks, 
they came upon a great treasure of ambergris, which had been 
cast on shore by the ocean. Besides a number of pieces of 
smaller dimensions, there was one great mass, the largest that 
had ever been known, weighing eighty pounds, and which of itself, 
according to the market value of ambergris in those days, was 
worth about nine or ten thousand pounds. 

From that moment the happiness and harmony of the three 
kings of Bermuda were gone for evei*. While poor devils, with 
nothing to share but the common blessings . of the island, which 
administered to present enjoyment, but had nothing of converti- 
ble value, they were loving and united ; but here was actual wealth, 
which would make them rich men, whenever they could transport 
it to market. 

Adieu the delights of the island ! They now became flat and 
insipid. Each pictured to himself the consequence he might now 
aspire to, in civilized life, could he once get there with this mass 
of ambergris. No longer a poor Jack Tar, frolicking in the low 
taverns of Wapping, he might roll through London in his coach, 
and perchance arrive, like Whittington, at the dignity of Lord 
Mayor. 



THE BEKMUDAS. Ill 

With riches came envy and covetousness. Each was now for 
assuming the supreme power, and getting the monopoly of the 
ambergris. A civil war at length broke out : Chard and Waters 
defied each other to mortal combat, and the kingdom of the Bermu- 
das was on the point of being deluged with royal blood. Fortunate- 
ly, Carter took no part in the bloody feud. Ambition might have 
made him view it with secret exultation ; for if either or both of 
his brother potentates were slain in the conflict, he would be a 
gainer in purse and ambergris. But he dreaded to be left alone 
in this uninhabited island, and to find himself the monarch of a 
solitude : so he secretly purloined and hid the weapons of the 
belligerent rivals, who, having no means of carrying on the war, 
gradually cooled down into a sullen armistice. 

The arrival of Governor More, with an overpowering force of 
sixty men, put an end to the empire. He took possession of the 
kingdom, in the name of the Somer Island Company, and forthwith 
proceeded to make a settlement. The three kings tacitly relin- 
quished their sway, but stood up stoutly for their treasure. It 
was determined, however, that they had been fitted out at the ex- 
pense, and employed in the service, of the Virginia Company; 
that they had found the ambergris while in the service of that 
company, and on that company's land ; that the ambergris there- 
fore belonged to that company, or rather to the Somer Island 
Company, in consequence of their recent purchase of the island 
and all their appurtenances. Having thus legally established 
their right, and being moreover able to back it by might, the 
company laid the lion's paw upon the spoil ; and nothing more 
remains on historic record of the Three Kings of Bermuda, and 
their treasure of ambergris. 



112 THE BEKMTrDA&. 



The reader will now determine whether I am more extrava- 
gant than most of the commentators on Shakespeare, in my sur- 
mise that the story of Sir George Somers' shipwreck, and the sub- 
sequent occurrences that took place on the uninhabited island 
may have furnished the bard with some of the elements of hia 
drama of the Tempest. The tidings of the shipwreck, and of 
the incidents connected with it, reached England not long before 
the production of this drama, and made a great sensation there. 
A narrative of the whole matter, from which most of the forego- 
ing particulars are extracted, was published at the time in Lon- 
don, in a pamphlet form, and could not fail to be eagarly perused 
by Shakespeare, and to make a vivid impression on his fancy. 
His expression, in the Tempest, of " the still vext Bermoothes," 
accords exactly with the storm-beaten character of those islands, 
The enchantments, too, with which he has clothed the island of 
Prospero, may they not be traced to the wild and superstitious 
notions entertained about the Bermudas ? . I have already cited 
two passages from a pamphlet published at the time, showing 
that they were esteemed " a most prodigious and incJianted place," 
and the " habitation of divells ;" and another pamphlet, published 
shortly afterward, observes : " And whereas it is reported that 
this land of the Barmudas, with the islands about, (which are 
many, at least an hundred), are inchanted, and kept with evil and 
wicked spirits, it is a most idle false report." * 

The description, too, given in the same pamphlets, of the real 
beauty and fertility of the Bermudas, and of their serene and 

* " Newes from the Barmudas: " 1612. 



THE BEEMUDAS. 113 

happy climate, so opposite to the dangerous and inhospitable char- 
acter with which they had Tbeen stigmatized, accords with the eu- 
logium of Sebastian on the island of Prospero. 

" Though this island seem to be desert, uninhabitable, and almost inac- 
cessible, it must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate temperance. The 
air breathes upon us here most sweetly. Here is every thing advantageous 
to life. How lush and lusty the grass looks 1 how green I " 

I think too, in the exulting consciousness of ease, security, 
and abundance, felt by the late tempest-tossed mariners, while 
revelling in the plenteousness of the island, and their inclination 
to remain there, released from the labors, the cares, and the ar- 
tificial restraints of civilized life, I can see something of the gol- 
den commonwealth of honest Gonzalo : 

" Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, 
And were the king of it, what would I do? 
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries 
Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate . 
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty. 
And use of service, none ; contract, succession. 
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: 
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
Ko occupation ; all men idle, all. 
* * * * » 

All things in common, nature should produce, 
Without sweat or endeavor : Treason, felony, 
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine. 
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
Of its own kind all foizon, all abundance, 
To feed my innocent people." 



114 THE BERMUDAS. 

But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds who remained 
in possession of the island of Bermuda, on the departure of their 
comrades, and in their squabbles about supremacy, on the finding 
of their treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trinculo, and their 
worthy companion Caliban : 

" Ti'inculo, the king and all our company being drowned, we will in- 
herit here." 

" Monster, I will kill this man ; his daughter and I will be king and 
queen, (save our graces!) and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys." 

I do not mean to hold up the incidents and characters in the 
narrative and in the play as parallel, or as being strikingly simi- 
lar : neither would I insinuate that the narrative suggested the 
play; I would only suppose that Shakespeare, being occupied 
about that time on the drama of the Tempest, the main story of 
which, I believe, is of Italian origin, had many of the fanciful 
ideas of it suggested to his mind by the shipwreck of Sir Greorge 
Somers on the " still vext Bermoothes," and by the popular super- 
stitions connected with these islands, and suddenly put in circula- 
tion by that event. 



THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL 



A JUDICIAL TRIAL BY COMBAT. 

The world is daily growing older and wiser. Its institutiong 
vary with its years, and mark its growing wisdom ; and none 
more so than its modes of investigating truth, and ascertaining 
guilt or innocence. In its nonage, when man was yet a fallible 
being, and doubted the accuracy of his own intellect, appeals 
were made to heaven in dark and doubtful eases of atrocious ac- 
cusation. 

The accused was required to plunge his hand in boiling oil, or 
to walk across red-hot ploughshares, or to maintain his innocence 
in armed fight and listed field, in person or by champion. If he 
passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood acquitted, and the result 
was regarded as a verdict from on high. 

It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant age of chival- 
ry, the gentler sex should have been most frequently the subjects 
of these rude trials and perilous ordeals ; and that, too, when as- 
sailed in their most delicate and vulnerable part — their honor. 

In the present very old and enlightened age of the world, 



116 THE widow's OEDEAL. 

when the human intellect is perfectly competent to the manage- 
ment of its own concerns, and needs no special interposition ol 
heaven in its affairs, the trial by jury has superseded these super- 
human ordeals ; and the unanimity of twelve discordant minds is 
necessary to -constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity would, at 
first sight, appear also to require a miracle from heaven ; but 
it is produced by a simple device of human ingenuity. The 
twelve jurors are locked up in their box, there to fast until ab- 
stinence shall have so clarified their intellects that the whole jar- 
ring panel can discern the truth, and concur in a unanimous de- 
cision. One point is certain, that truth is one, and is immutable 
— ^until the jurors all agree, they cannot all be right. 

It is not our intention, however, to discuss this great judicial 
point, or to question the avowed superiority of the mode of in- 
vestigating truth, adopted in this antiquated and very sagacious 
era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the curious reader, one 
of the most memorable cases of judicial combat we find in the an- 
nals of Spain. It occurred at the bright commencement of the 
reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, glorious days, of Roderick 
the Goth ; who subsequently tarnished his fame at home by hia 
misdeeds, and, finally, lost his kingdom and his life on the banks 
of the Guadalete, in that disastrous battle which gave up Spain a 
conquest to the Moors. The following is the story : — 

There was once upon a time a certain duke of Lorraine, who 
was acknowledged throughout his domains to be one of the wisest 
princes that ever lived. In fact, there was no one measure adopt- 
ed by him that did not astonish his privy counsellors and gentle- 
men it attendance; and he said such witty things, and made such 



THE widow's OEDEAL. 117 

sensible speeches, that the jaws of his high chamberlain were 
well nigh dislocated from laughing with delight at one, and gap- 
ing with wonder at the other: 

This very witty and exceedingly wise potentate lived for half 
a century in single-blessedness ; at length his courtiers began to 
think it a great pity so wise and wealthy a prince should not have 
a child after his own likeness, to inherit his talents and domains ; 
so they urged him most respectfully to marry, for the good of his 
estate, and the welfare of his subjects. 

He turned their advice over in his mind some four or five 
years, and then sent forth emissaries to summon to his court all 
the beautiful maidens in the land, who were ambitious of sharing a 
ducal crown. The court was soon crowded with beauties of all 
styles and complexions, from among whom he chose one in the 
earliest budding of her charms, and acknowledged by all the 
gentlemen to be unparalleled for grace and loveliness. The cour- 
tiers extolled the duke to the skies for making such a choice, and 
considered it another proof of his great wisdom. " The duke," 
said they, " is waxing a little too old, the damsel, on the other 
hand, is a little too young ; if one is lacking in years, the other 
has a superabundance ; thus a want on one side, is balanced by an 
excess on the other, and the result is a well-assorted marriage." 

The duke, as is often the case with wise men who marry 
rather late, and take damsels rather youthful to their bosoms, be- 
came dotingly fond of his wife, and very properly indulged her in 
all things. He w;i,s, consequently, cried up by his subjects in 
general, and by the ladies in particular, as a pattern for hus- 
bands ; and, in the end, from the wonderful docility with which 
he submitted to be reined and checked, acquired the amiable and 
enviable appellation of Duke Philibert the wife-ridden. 



118 THE WIDOW^S OKDEAL. 

There was only one thing that disturbed the conjugal felicity 
of this paragon of husbands — ^though a considerable time elapsed 
after his marriage, there was still no prospect of an heir. The good 
duke left no means untried to propitiate Heaven. He made vows 
and pilgrimages, he fasted and he prayed, but all to no purpose. 
Tiie courtiers were all astonished at the circumstance. They 
could not account for it. While the meanest peasant in the 
country had sturdy brats by dozens, without putting up a prayer, 
the duke wore himself to skin and bone with penances and fast- 
ings, yet seemed farther off from his object than ever. 

At length, the worthy prince fell dangerously ill, and felt his 
end approaching. He looked sorrowfully and dubiously upon his 
young and tender spouse, who hung over him with tears and sob- 
bings. "Alas!" said he, "tears are soon dried from youthful 
eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a youthful heart. In a little 
while thou wilt forget in the arms of another husband him \vho 
has loved thee so tenderly." 

" Never ! never ! " cried the duchess, '' Never will I cleave 
to another ! Alas, that my lord should think me capable of such 
inconstancy ! " 

The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed by her assur- 
ances ; for he could not brook the thought of giving her up even 
after he should be dead. Still he wished to have some pledge of 
her enduring constancy : 

" Far be it from me, my dearest wife," said he, " to control 
thee through a long life. A year and a day of strict fidelity will 
appease my troubled spirit. Promise to remain faithful to my 
memory for a year and a day, and I will die in peace." 

The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect, but the uxo- 



THE widow's OKDEAL. 119 

rious feelings of the duke were not yet satisfied. " Safe bind, safe 
find," thought he ; so he made a will, bequeathing to her all his 
domains, on condition of her remaining true to him for a year and 
a day after his decease ; but, should it appear that, within that 
iime, she had in anywise lapsed from her fidelity, the inheritance 
ehould go to his nephew, the lord of a neighboring territory. 

Having made his will, the good duke died and was buried. 
Scarcely was he in his tomb, when his nephew came to take pos- 
session, thinking, as his uncle had died without issue, the do- 
mains would be devised to him of course. He was in a furious 
passion, when the will was produced, and the young widow de- 
clared inheritor of the dukedom. As he was a violent, high- 
handed man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, fears 
were entertained that he might attempt to seize on the territories 
by force. He had, however, two bachelor uncles for bosom coun- 
sellors, — swaggering rakehelly old cavaliers, who, having led loose 
and riotous lives, prided themselves upon knowing the world, and 
being deeply experienced in human nature. " Prithee, man, be 
of good cheer," said they, " the duchess is a young and buxom 
widow. She has just buried our brother, who, God rest his soul ! 
was somewhat too much given to praying and fasting, and kept 
his pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She is now like a bird 
from a cage. Think you she will keep her vow? Pooh, pooh — 
impossible ! — Take our words for it — we know mankind, and, 
above all, womankind. She cannot hold out for such a length of 
time ; it is not in womanhood — it is not in widowhood — ^we 
know it, and that's enough. Keep a sharp look-out upon the 
widow, therefore, and within the twelvemonth you will catch her 
tripping — and then the dukedom is your own." 



120 THE widow's oedeal. 

The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and immediately 
placed spies round the duchess, and bribed several of her servants 
to keep watch upon her, so that she could not take a single step, 
even from one apartment of her palace to another, without being 
observed. Never was young and beautiful widow exposed to so 
terrible an ordeal. 

The duchess was aware of the watch thus kept upon her. 
Though confident of her own rectitude, she knew that it is not 
enough for a woman to be virtuous — she must be above the reach 
of slander. For the whole term of her probation, therefore, she 
proclaimed a strict non-intercourse with the other sex. She had 
females for cabinet ministers and chamberlains, through whom she 
transacted all her public and private concerns ; and it is said that 
never were the afiairs of the dukedom so adroitly administered. 

All males were rigorously excluded from the palace; she 
never went out of its precincts, and whenever she moved about its 
courts and gardens, she surrounded herself with a body-guard of 
young maids of honor, commanded by dames renowned for dis- 
cretion. She slept in a bed without curtains, placed in the centre 
of a room illuminated by innumerable wax tapers. Four ancient 
spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect dragons of watchfulness, 
who only slept during the daytime, kept vigils throughout the 
night, seated in the four corners of the room on stools without 
backs or arms, and with seats cut in checkers of the hardest 
wood, to keep them from dozing. 

Thus wisely and warily did the young duchess conduct her- 
self for twelve long months, and slander almost bit her tongue off 
in despair, at finding no room even for a surmise. Never was 
ordeal more burdensome, or more enduringly sustained. 



THE widow's ordeal. 121 

The year passed away. The last, odd day arrived, and a long, 
long day it was. It was the twenty-first of June, the longest day 
in the year. It seemed as if it would never come to an end. A 
thousand times did the duchess and her ladies watch the sun from 
the windows of the palace, as he slowly climbed the vault of 
heaven, and seemed still more slowly to roll down. They could 
not help expressing their wonder, now and then, why the duke 
should have tagged this supernumerary day to the end of the 
year, as if three hundred and sixty-five days were not sufficient to 
try and task the fidelity of any woman. It is the last grain that 
turns the scale — the last drop that overflows the goblet — and the 
last moment of delay that exhausts the patience. By the time 
the sun sank below the horizon, the duchess was in a fidget that 
passed all bounds, and, though several hours were yet to pass 
before the day regularly expired, she could not have remained 
those hours in dui'ance to gain a royal crown, much less a ducal 
coronet. So she gave orders, and her palfrey, magnificently 
caparisoned, was brought into the court-yard of the castle, with 
palfreys for all her ladies in attendance. In this way she sallied 
forth, just as the sun had gone down. It was a mission of piety 
— a pilgrim cavalcade to a convent at the foot of a neighboring 
mountain — to return thanks to the blessed Virgin, for having 
sustained her through this fearful ordeal. 

The orisons performed, the duchess and her ladies returned, 
ambling gently along the border of a forest. It was about that 
mellow hour of twilight when night and day are mingled, and 
all objects are indistinct. Suddenly, some monstrous animal 
sprang from out a thicket, with fearful bowlings. The female 
body-guard was thrown into confusion, and fled difierent ways. 



122 THE widow's okdeai.. 

It was some time before they recovered from tlieir panic, and 
gathered once more together; but the duchess was not to be 
found. The greatest anxiety was felt for her safety. The hazy 
mist of twilight had prevented their distinguishing perfectly the 
animal which had affrighted them. Some thought it a wolf, 
others a bear, others a wild man of the woods. For upwards of 
an hour did they beleaguer the forest, without daring to venture 
in, and were on the point of giving up the duchess as torn to 
pieces and devoured, when, to their great joy, they beheld her 
advancing in the gloom, supported by a stately cavalier. 

He was a stranger knight, whom nobody knew. It was im- 
possible to distinguish his countenance in the dark ; but all the 
ladies agreed that he was of noble presence and captivating 
address. He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs of the 
monster, which, he assured the ladies, was neither a wolf, nor a 
bear, nor yet a wild man of the woods, but a veritable fiery dragon, 
a species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful females in the 
days of chivalry, and which all the efforts of knight-errantry had 
not been able to extirpate. 

The ladies crossed themselves when they heard of the danger 
from which they had escaped, and could not enough admire the gal- 
lantry of the cavalier. The duchess would fain have prevailed on 
her deliverer to accompany her to her court ; but he had no time 
to spare, being a knight-errant, who had many adventures on hand, 
and many distressed damsels and afflicted widows to rescue and 
relieve in various parts of the country. Taking a respectful leave, 
therefore, he pursued his wayfaring, and the duchess and her train 
returned to the palace. Throughout the whole way, the ladies 
were unwearied in chanting the praises of the stranger knight ; 



THE Wroow's OKDEAL, 123 

nay, many of them would willingly have incurred the danger of 
the dragon to have enjoyed the happy deliverance of the duchess 
As to the latter, she rode pensively along, but said nothing. 

No sooner was the adventure of the wood made public, 
than a whirlwind was raised about the ears of the beautiful duchess. 
The blustering nephew of the deceased duke went about, armed to 
the teeth, with a swaggering uncle at each shoulder, ready to back 
him, and swore the duchess had forfeited her domain. It was in 
vain that she called all the saints, and angels, and her ladies in 
attendance into the bargain, to witness that she had passed a year 
and a day of immaculate fidelity. One fatal hour remained to be 
accounted for ; and into the space of one little hour sins enough 
may be conjured up by evil tongues, to blast the fame of a whole 
life of virtue. 

The two graceless uncles, who had seen the world, were ever 
ready to bolster the matter through, and as they were brawny, 
broad-shouldered warriors, and veterans in brawl as well as 
debauch, they had great sway with the multitude. If any one 
pretended to assert the innocence of the duchess, they interrupted 
him with a loud ha ! ha ! of derision. " A pretty story, truly," 
would they cry, " about a wolf and a dragon, and a young widow 
rescued in the dark by a sturdy varlet, who dares not show his face 
in the daylight. You may tell that to those who do not know 
human nature; for our parts, we know the sex, and that's enough." 

If, however, the other repeated his assertion, they would sud- 
denly knit their brows, swell, look big, and put their hands upon 
their swords. As few people like to fight in a cause that does 
not touch their own interests, the nephew and the uncles were 
Buffered to have their way, and swagger uncontradicted. 



124 THE widow's ordeal. 

The matter was at length referred to a tribunal composed ot 
all the dignitaries of the dukedom, and many and repeated con 
Bultations were held. The character of the duchess, throughout 
the year was as bright and spotless as the moon in a cloudless 
night; one fatal hour of darkness alone intervened to eclipse its 
brightness. Finding human sagacity incapable of dispelling the 
mystery, it was determined to leave the question to Heaven ; or 
in other words, to decide it by the ordeal of the sword — a sage 
tribunal in the age of chivalry. The nephew and two bully uncles 
were to maintain their accusation in listed combat, and six months 
were allowed to the duchess to provide herself with three cham- 
pions, to meet them in the field. Should she fail in this, or should 
her champions be vanquished, her honor would be considered as 
attainted, her fidelity as forfeit, and her dukedom would go to the 
nephew, as a matter of right. 

With this determination the duchess was fain to comply. Pro- 
clamations were accordingly made, and heralds sent to various 
parts ; but day after day, week after week, and month after month, 
elapsed, without any champion appearing to assert her loyalty 
throughout that darksome hour. The fair widow was reduced to 
despair, when tidings reached her of grand tournaments to be 
held at Toledo, in celebration of the nuptials of Don Roderick, 
the last of the Gothic kings, with the Morisco princess Exilona. 
As a last resort, the duchess repaired to the Spanish court, to im- 
plore the gallantry of its assembled chivalry. 

The ancient city of Toledo was a scene of gorgeous revelrj 
on the event of the royal nuptials. The youthful king, brave, 
ardent, and magnificent, and his lovely bride, beaming with all 
the radiant beauty of the east, were hailed with shouts and aoola 



THE widow's oedeal. 125 

matious whenever they appeared. Their nobles vied with each 
other in the luxury of their attire, their prancing steeds, and 
splendid retinues ; and the haughty dames of the court appeared 
in a blaze of jewels. 

In the midst of all this pageantry, the beautiful, but afflicted 
Duchess of Lorraine made her approach to the throne. She was 
dressed in black, and closely veiled ; four duennas of the most 
staid and severe aspect, and six beautiful demoiselles, formed her 
female attendants. She was guarded by several very ancient, 
withered, and grayheaded cavaliers ; and her train was borne by 
one of the most deformed and diminutive dwarfs in existence. 

Advancing to the foot of the throne, she knelt down, and, 
throwing up her veil, revealed a countenance so beautiful that 
half the courtiers present were ready to renounce wives and mis- 
tresses, and devote themselves to her service; but when she made 
known that she came in quest of champions to defend her fame, 
every cavalier pressed forward to offer his arm and sword, without 
inquiring into the merits of the case ; for it seemed clear that so 
beauteous a lady could have done nothing but what was right ; and 
that, at any rate, she ought to be championed in following the 
bent of her humors, whether right or wrong. 

Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the duchess suffered her- 
self to be raised from the ground, and related the whole story of 
her distress. When she concluded, the king remained for some 
time silent, charmed by the music of her voice. At length : " As 
I hope for salvation, most beautiful duchess," said he, " were I 
not a sovereign king, and bound in duty to my kingdom, I myself 
would put lance in rest to vindicate your cause ; as it is, I here 
give full permission to my knights, and promise lists and a fair 



126 THE WIDOW S ORDEAL. 

field, and that the contest shall take place before the walls ol 
Toledo, in presence of my assembled court." 

As soon as the pleasure of the king was known, there was a 
strife among the cavaliers present, for the honor of the contest. 
It was decided by lot, and the successful candidates were objects 
of great envy, for every one was ambitious of finding favor in the 
eyes of the beautiful widow. 

Missives were sent, summoning the nephew and his two 
uncles to Toledo, to maintain their accusation, and a day was ap- 
pointed for the combat. When the day arrived, all Toledo was 
in commotion at an early hour. The lists had been prepared in 
the usual place, just without the walls, at the foot of the rugged 
rocks oil which the city is built, and on that beautiful meadow 
along the Tagus, known by the name of the king's garden. The 
populace had already assembled, each one eager to secure a fa- 
vorable place; the balconies were filled with the ladies of the 
court, clad in their richest attire, and bands of youthful knights, 
splendidly armed and decorated with their ladies' devices, were man- 
aging their superbly caparisoned steeds about the field. The king 
at length came forth in state, accompanied by the queen Exilona. 
They took their seats in a raised balcony, under a canopy of rich 
damask ; and, at sight of them, the people rent the air with accla- 
mations. 

The nephew and his uncles now rode into the field, armed 
cap-a-pie., and followed by a train of cavaliers of their own 
roystering cast, great swearers and carousers, arrant swashbuck- 
lers, with clanking armor and jingling spurs. When the people of 
Toledo beheld the vaunting and discourteous appearance of these 
knights, they were more anxious than ever for the success of the 



THK widow's OEDEAL. 127 

gentle duchess ; but, at the same time, the sturdy and stalwart 
frames of these warriors, showed that whoever won the victory 
from them, must do it at the cost of many a bitter blow. 

As the nephew and his riotous crew rode in at one side of the 
field, the fair widow appeared at the other, with her suite of grave 
grayheaded courtiers, her ancient duennas and dainty demoiselles, 
and the little dwarf toiling along under the weight of her train. 
Every one made way for her as she passed, and blessed her beau- 
tiful face, and prayed for success to her cause. She took her seat 
in a lower balcony, not far from the sovereigns ; and her pale face, 
set off by her mourning weeds, was as the moon, shining forth 
from among the clouds of night. 

The trumpets sounded for the combat. The warriors were 
just entering the lists, when a stranger knight, armed in panoply, 
and followed by two pages and an esquire, came galloping into the 
field, and, riding up to the royal balcony, claimed the combat as a 
matter of right. 

" In me," cried he, " behold the cavalier who had the happi- 
ness to rescue the beautiful duchess from the peril of the forest, 
and the misfortune to bring on her this grievous calumny. It 
was but recently, in the course of my errantry, that tidings of her 
wrongs have reached my ears, and I have urged hither at all 
speed, to stand forth in her vindication." 

No sooner did the duchess hear the accents of the knight than 
she recognized his voice, and joined her prayers with his that he 
might enter the lists.- The difficulty was, to determine which of 
the three champions already appointed should yield his place, 
each insisting on the honor of the combat. The stranger knight 
would have settled the point, by taking the whole contest upon 



128 THE AVIDOW'S ORDEAL. 

himself; but this the other knights would not permit. It was at 
length determined, as before, by lot, and the cavalier who lost the 
chance retired murmuring and disconsolate. 

The trumpets again sounded - — the lists were opened. The 
arrogant nephew and his two drawcansir uncles appeared so com- 
pletely cased in steel, that they and their steeds wei'e like moving 
masses of iron. When they understood the stranger knight to be 
the same that had rescued the duchess from her peril, they greet- 
ed him with the most boisterous derision : 

" ho ! sir Knight of the Dragon," said they, " you who pre- 
tend to champion fair widows in the dark, come on, and vindicate 
your deeds of darkness in the open day." 

The only reply of the cavalier was, to put lance in rest, and 
brace himself for the encounter. Needless is it to relate the par- 
ticulars of a battle, which was like so many hundred combats that 
have been said and sung in prose and verse. Who is there but 
must have foreseen the event of a contest, where Heaven had to 
decide on the guilt or innocence of the most beautiful and immacu- 
late of widows ? 

The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind of judicial com- 
bats, can imagine the encounter of the graceless nephew and the 
stranger knight. He sees their concussion, man to man, and horse 
to horse, in mid career, and sir Graceless hurled to the ground, 
and slain. He will not wonder that the assailants of the brawny 
uncles were less successful in their rude encounter ; but he will 
picture to himself the stout stranger spurring to their rescue, in 
the very critical moment; he will see him transfixing one with his 
lance, and cleaving the other to the chine with a back stroke of 
his sword, thus leaving the trio of accusers dead upon the field, 



THE widow's ordeal. 129 

and establishing the immaculate fidelity of the duchess, and her 
title to the dukedom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

The air rang with acclamations; nothing was heard but 
praises of the beauty and virtue of the duchess, and of the prowess 
of the stranger knight ; but the public joy was still more increased 
when the champion raised his visor, and revealed the countenance 
of one of the bravest cavaliers of Spain, renowned for his gallantry 
in the service of the sex, and who had been round the world in 
quest of similar adventures. 

That worthy knight, however, was severely wounded, and re- 
mained for a long time ill of his wounds. The lovely duchess, 
grateful for having twice owed her protection to his arm, attended 
him daily during his illness ; and finally rewarded his gallantry 
with her hand. 

The king would fain have had the knight establish his title to 
Buchhigh advancement by farther deeds of arms; but his cour- 
tiers declared that he already merited the lady, by thus vindi- 
cating her fame and fortuna in a deadly combat to outrance ; and 
the lady herself hinted that she was perfectly satisfied of his 
prowess in arms, from the proofs she had received in his achieve- 
ment in the forest. 

Their nuptials were celebrated with great magnificence. The 
present husband of the duchess did not pray and fast like his pre- 
decessor, Philibert the wife-ridden ; yet he found greater favor in 
the eyes of Heaven, for their union was blessed with a numerous 
progeny — the daughters chaste and beauteous as their mother 
the sons stout and valiant as their sire, and renowned, like him, 
for relieving disconsolate damsels and desolated widows. 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

Ijs the course of a tour in Sicilj, in the days of my juvenility, 
I passed some little time at the ancient city of Catania, at the 
foot of Mount ^tna. Here I became acquainted with the Chev- 
alier L , an old knight of Malta. It was not many years 

after the time that Napoleon had dislodged the knights from 
their island, and he still wore the insignia of his order. He was 
not, however, one of those reliques of that once chivalrous body, 
who have been described as " a few worn-out old men, creeping 
about certain parts of Europe, with the Maltese cross on their 
breasts ; " on the contrary, though advanced in life, his form was 
still light and vigorous : he had a pale, thin, intellectual visage, 
with a high forehead, and a bright, visionary eye. He seemed 
to take a fancy to me, as I certainly did to him, and we soon be- 
came intimate. I visited him occasionally, at his apartments, in 
the wing of an old palace, looking toward Mount j^tna. He was 
an antiquary, a virtuoso, and a connoisseur. His rooms were 
decorated with mutilated statues, dug up from Grrecian and Roman 
ruins; old vases, lachrymals, and sepulchral lamps. He had 



THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 131 

astronomical and chemical instruments, and black-letter books, in 
various languages. I found that he had dipped a little in chimerical 
studies, and had a hankering after astrology and alchemy. He 
affected to believe in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fan- 
ciful Rosicruciau doctrines. I cannot persuade myself, however, 
that he really believed in all these ; I rather think he loved to let 
his imagination carry him away into the boundless fairy land 
which they unfolded. 

In company with the chevalier, I made several excursions on 
horseback about the environs of Catania, and the picturesque 
skirts of Mount JKtna. One of these led through a village, which 
had sprung up on the very track of an ancient eruption, the houses 
being built of lava. At one time we passed, for some distance, 
along a narrow lane, between two high dead convent walls. . It 
was a cut-throat looking place, in a country where assassinations 
are frequent; and just about midway through it, we observed 
blood upon the pavement and the walls, as if a murder had actu- 
ally been committed there. 

The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he had extricated 
himself completely from this suspicious neighborhood. He then 
observed, that it reminded him of a similar blind alley in Malta, 
infamous on account of the many assassinations that had taken 
place there ; concerning one of which, he related a long and tra- 
gical story, that lasted until we reached Catania. It involved 
various circumstances of a wild and supernatural character, but 
which he assured me were handed down in tradition, and gener- 
ally credited by the old inhabitants of Malta. 

As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I was particularly 
struck with several parts of this, I made a minute of it, on my 



132 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

return to my lodgings. The memorandum was lost, with several 
of my travelling papers, and the story had faded from my mind, 
when recently, on perusing a French memoir, I came suddenly 
upon it, dressed up, it is true, in a very different manner, but 
agreeing in the leading facts, and given upon the word of that 
famous adventurer, the Count Cagliostro. 

I have amused myself, during a snowy day in the country, by 
rendering it roughly into English, for the entertainment of a 
youthful circle round the Christmas fire. It was well received by 
my auditors, who, however, are rather easily pleased. One proof 
of its merits is, that it sent some of the youngest of them quaking 
to their beds, and gave them very fearful dreams. Hoping that 
it may have the same effect upon the ghost-hunting readei*, I 
subjoin it. I would observe, that wherever I have modified the 
French version of the story, it has been in conformity to some re- 
collection of the narrative of my friend, the Knight of Malta. 



THE GKAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 

A VERITABLE GHOST STOET. 

" Keep ay wits, heaven I They say spirits appear 
To melancholy minds, and the graves open!" 

Fletchek, 

About the middle of the last century, while the Knights of 
Saint John of Jerusalem still maintained something of their ancient 
state and sway in the island of Malta, a tragical event took place 
there, which is the groundwork of the following narrative. 

It may be as well to premise, that at the time we are treating 



THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 133 

of, the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, grown excessively 
wealthy, had degenerated from its originally devout and warlike 
character. Instead of being a hardy body of " monk-knights," 
sworn soldiers of the cross, fighting the Paynim in the Holy 
Land, or scouring the Mediterranean, and scourging the Barbary 
coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor, and attending upon 
the sick at their hospitals, they led a life of luxury and libertin- 
ism, and were to be found in the most voluptuous courts of 
Europe. The order, in fact, had become a mode of providing 
for the needy branches of the Catholic aristocracy of Europe. 
" A commandery," we are told, was a splendid provision for a 
younger brother ; and men of rank, however dissolute, provided 
they belonged to the highest aristocracy, became Knights of 
Malta, just as they did bishops, or colonels of regiments, or court 
chamberlains. After a brief residence at Malta, the knights 
passed the rest of their time in their own countries, or only 
made a visit now and then to the island. While there, having 
but little military duty to perform, they beguiled their idleness 
by paying attentions 4o the fair. 

There was one circle of society, however, into which they 
could not obtain currency. This was composed of a few families 
of the old Maltese nobility, natives of the island. These families, 
not being permitted to enroll any of their members in the order, 
affected to hold no intercourse with its chevaliers ; admitting 
none into their exclusive coteries, but the Grand Master, whom 
they acknowledged as their sovereign, and the members of the 
chapter which composed his council. 

To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the chevaliers 
carried their gallantries into the next class of society, composed 



134 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

of those who held civil, administratiye, and judicial situationa. 
The ladies of this cb^ss were called lionorate^ or honorables, to 
distinguish them from the inferior orders ; and among them were 
many of superior grace, beauty and fascination. 

Even in this more hospitable class, the chevaliers were not all 
equally favored. Those of Germany had the decided preference, 
owing to their fair and fresh complexions, and the kindliness of 
their manners : next to these, came the Spanish cavaliers, on 
account of their profound and courteous devotion, and most dis- 
creet secrecy. Singular as it may seem, the chevaliers of France 
fared the worst. The Maltese ladies dreaded their volatility, 
and their proneness to boast of their amours, and shunned all 
entanglement with them. They were forced, therefore, to content 
themselves with conquests among females of the lower orders. 
They revenged themselves, after the gay French manner, by mak- 
ing the "honorate " the objects of all kinds of jests and mystifi- 
cations ; by prying into their tender afi"airs with the more favored 
chevaliers and making them the theme of song and epigram. 

About this time, a French vessel arrived at Malta, bringing 
out a distinguished personage of the Order of. Saint John of 
Jerusalem, the Commander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit 
the post of commander-in-chief of the galleys. He was descended 
from an old and warrior line of French nobility, his ancestors 
having long been seneschals of Poitou, and claiming descent from 
the first Counts of Angouleme. 

The arrival of the commander caused a little uneasiness 
among the peaceably inclined, for he bore the character, in the 
island, of being fiery, arrogant, and quarrelsome. He had 
already been three times at Malta, and on each visit had signal- 



THE GKAND PKIOR OF MINORCA. 135 

ized himself by some rash and deadly affray. As he was now 
thirty-five years of age, however, it was hoped that time might 
have taken off the fiery edge of his spirit, and that he might 
prove more quiet and sedate than formerly. The commander set 
up an establishment befitting his rank and pretensions ; for he 
arrogated to himself an importance greater even than that of 
the Grand Master. His house immediately became the rallying 
place of all the young French chevaliers. They infoi*med him of 
all the slights they had experienced or imagined, and indulged 
their petulant and satirical vein at the expense of the honorate 
and their admirers. The chevaliers of other nations soon found 
the topics and tone of conversation at the CQjumander's irksome 
and offensive, and gradually ceased to visit there. The com- 
mander remained at the head of a national clique, who looked up 
to him as their model. If he was not as boisterous and quarrel- 
some as formerly, he had become haughty and overbearing. He 
was fond of talking over his past affairs of punctilio and bloody 
duel. When walking the streets, he was generally attended by 
a ruffling train of young French chevaliers, who caught his own 
air of assumption and bravado. These he would conduct to the 
scenes of his deadly encounters, point out the very spot where 
each fatal lunge had been given, and dwell vaingloriously on 
every particular. 

Under his tuition, the young French chevaliers began to add 
bluster and arrogance to their former petulance and levity ; they 
fired up on the most trivial occasions, particularly with those who 
had been most successful with the fair ; and would put on the 
most intolerable drawcansir airs. The other chevaliers conducted 
themselves with all possible forbearance and reserve ; but they 



136 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

saw it would be impossible to keep on long, in this manner, with- 
out coming to an open rupture. 

Among the Spanish cavaliers, was one named Don Luis de 
Lima Vasconcellos. He was distantly related to the Grand 
Master ; and had been enrolled at an early age among his pages, 
but had been rapidly promoted by him, until, at the age of twenty, 
six, he had been given the richest Spanish commandery in the 
order. He had, moreover, been fortunate with the fair, with one 
of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, he had long 
maintained the most tender correspondence. 

The character, rank, and connections of Don Luis put him on 
a par with the imperious Commander de Foulquerre, and pointed 
him out as a leader and champion to his countrymen. The Span- 
ish cavaliers repaired to him, therefore, in a body ; represented 
all the grievances they had sustained, and the evils they appre- 
hended, and urged him to use his influence with the commander 
and his adherents to put a stop to the growing abuses. 

Don Luis was gratified by this mark of confidence and esteem, 
on the part of his countrymen, and promised to have an interview 
with the Commander de Fovilquerre on the subject. He resolved 
to conduct himself with the utmost caution and delicacy on the 
occasion ; to represent to the commander the evil consequences 
which might result from the inconsiderate conduct of the young 
French chevaliers, and to entreat him to exert the great influence 
he so deservedly possessed over them, to restrain their excesses. 
Don Luis was aware, however, of the peril that attended any in- 
terview of the kind with this imperious and fractious man, and 
apprehended, however it might commence, that it would terminate 
in a duel. Still, it was an affair of honor, in which Castilian 



THE GKAND PKIOR OF MINOKCA. 137 

dignity was concerned ; beside, lie had a lurking disgust at the 
overbearing manners of De Foulquerre, and perhaps had been 
somewhat offended by certain intrusive attentions which he had 
presumed to pay to the beautiful honorata. 

It was now Holy Week ; a time too sacred for worldly feuds 
and passions, especially in a community under the dominion of a 
religious order: it was agreed, therefore, that the dangerous 
interview in question should not take place until after the Easter 
holydays. It is probable, from subsequent circumstances, that 
the Commander de Foulquerre had some information of this ar- 
rangement among the Spanish cavaliers, and was determined to 
be beforehand, and to mortify the pride of their champion, who 
was thus preparing to read him a lecture. He chose Grood Friday 
for his purpose. On this sacred day, it is customary in Catholic 
countries to make a tour of all the churches, offering up prayers 
in each. In every Catholic church, as is well known, there is a 
vessel of holy water near the door. In this, every one, on enter- 
ing, dips his fingers, and makes therewith the sign of the cross on 
his forehead and breast. An office of gallantry, among the young 
Spaniards, is to stand near the door, dip their hands in the holy 
vessel, and extend them courteously and respectfully to any lady 
of their acquaintance who may enter; who thus receives the 
sacred water at second hand, on the tips of her fingers, and pro- 
ceeds to cross herself, with all due decorum. The Spaniards, who 
are the most jealous of lovers, are impatient when this piece of 
devotional gallantry is proffered to the object of their affections by 
any other hand : on Good Friday, therefore, when a lady makes a 
tour of the churches, it is the usage among them for the inamorato 
to follow her from church to church, so as to present her the holy 



138 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

water at the door of each ; thus testifying his own devotion, and 
at the same time preventing the officious services of a rival. 

On the day in question, Don Luis followed the beautiful 
honorata, to whom, as has already been observed, he had long 
been devoted. At the very first church she visited, the Com- 
mander de Foulquerre was stationed at the portal, with several of 
the young French chevaliers about him. Before Don Luis could 
offer her the holy water, he was anticipated by the commander, 
who thrust himself between them, and, while he performed the 
gallant office to the lady, rudely turned his back upon her ad- 
mirer, and trod upon his feet. The insult was enjoyed by the 
young Frenchmen who were present : it was too deep and grave 
to be forgiven by Spanish pride ; and at once put an end to all 
Don Luis's plans of caution and forbearance. He repressed his 
passion for the moment, however, and waited until all the parties 
left the church : then, accosting the commander with an air of 
coolness and unconcern, he inquired after his health, and asked to 
what church he proposed making his second visit. " To the 
Magisterial Church of Saint John."' Don Luis offered to conduct 
him thither, by the shortest route. His offer was accepted, ap- 
parently without suspicion, and they proceeded together. After 
walking some distance, they entered a long, narrow lane, without 
door or window opening upon it, called the " Strada Stretta," or 
narrow street. It was a street in which duels were tacitly per- 
mitted, or connived at, in Malta, and were suffered to pass aa 
accidental encounters. Every where else, they were prohibited. 
This restriction had been instituted to diminish the number of 
duels formerly so frequent in Malta. As a farther precaution to 
render tbese encounters less fatal, it was an offence, punishable 



THE GRAND PKIOR OF MTNORCA. 139 

with death, for any one to enter this street armed with either 
poniard or pistol. It was a lonely, dismal street, just wide 
enough for two men to stand upon their guard and cross their 
swords ; few persons ever traversed it, unless with some sinister 
design ; and on any preconcerted duello, the seconds posted them- 
Belves at each end, to stop all passengers, and prevent inter- , 
ruption. 

In the present instance, the parties had scarce entered the 
street, when Don Luis drew his sword, and called upon the com- 
mander to defend himself 

De Foulquerre was evidently taken by surprise : he drew 
back, and attempted to expostulate ; but Don Luis persisted in 
defying him to the combat. 

After a second or two, he likewise drew his sword, but im- 
mediately lowered the point. 

" Good Friday ! " ejaculated he, shaking his head : " one word 
with you ; it is full six years since I have been in a confessional : 
I am shocked at the state of my conscience ; but within three 
days — that is to say, on Monday next " 

Don Luis would listen to nothing. Though naturally of a 

peaceable disposition, he had been stung to fury, and people of 

that character when once incensed, are deaf to reason. He com- 

I 
pelled the commander to put himself on his guard. The latter, 

though a man accustomed to brawl and battle, was singularly dis- 
mayed, Terror was visible in all his features. He placed him- 
self with his back to the wall, and the weapons were crossed. The 
contest was brief and fatal. At the very first thrust, the sword 
of Don Luis passed through the body of his antagonist. The 
eommander staggered to the wall, and leaned against it. 



140 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

" On Good Friday ! " ejaculated lie again, with a failing voice 
and despairing accents. " Heaven pardon you ! " added he ; " take 
my sword to Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed 
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! " With 
these words he expired. 

The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He stood aghast, gaz- 
ing at the bleeding body of the commander. He called to mind 
the prayer of the deceased for three days' respite, to make hia 
peace with heaven ; he had refused it ; had sent him to the grave, 
with all his sins upon his head ! His conscience smote him to the 
core ; he gathered up the sword of the commander, which he had 
been enjoined to take to Tetefoulques, and hurried from the fatal 
Strada Stretta. 

The duel of course made a great noise in Malta, but had no 
injurious effect on the worldly fortunes of Don Luis. He made a 
full declaration of the whole matter, before the proper authorities ; 
the chapter of the order considered it one of those casual en- 
counters of the Strada Stretta, which were mourned over, but tol- 
erated ; the public by whom the late commander had been gener- 
ally detested, declared that he deserved his fate. It was but 
three days after the event, that Don Luis was advanced to one of 
the highest dignities of the order, being invested by the Grand 
Master with the Priorship of the kingdom of Minorca. 

From that time forward, however, the whole character and 
conduct of Don Luis underwent a change. He became a prey to 
a dark melancholy, which nothing could assuage. The most aus- 
tere piety, the severest penances, had no effect in allaying the 
horror which preyed upon his mind. He was absent for a long 
time from Malta ; having gone, it was said, on remote pilgrim-. 



THE GRxVND PEIOR OF MINOKCA. 141 

ages : when he returned, lie was more haggard than ever. There 
seemed something mysterious and inexplicable in this disorder of 
his mind. The following is the revelation made by himself, of 
the horrible visions or chimeras by which he was haunted : 

" When I had made my declaration before the chapter," said 
he, " my provocations were publicly known, I had made my peace 
with man ; but it was not so with God, nor with my confessor, 
nor with my own conscience. My act was doubly criminal, from 
the day on which it was committed, and from my refusal to a de- 
lay of three days, for the victim of my resentment to receive the 
saeramonts. His despairing ejaculation, ' Good Friday ! Good 
Friday ! ' continually rang in my ears. ' Why did I not grant the 
respite ! ' cried I to myself; ' was it not enough to kill the body, 
but must I seek to kill the soul ! ' 

" On the night following Friday, I started suddenly from my 
sleep. An unaccountable horror was upon me. I looked wildly 
around. It seemed as if I were not in my apartment, nor in my 
bed, but in the fatal Strada Stretta, lying on the pavement. I 
again saw the commander leaning against the wall; 1 again heard 
his dying words : ' Take my sword to Tetefoulques, and have a 
hundred masses performed in the chapel of the castle, for the re- 
pose of my soul ! ' 

"On the following night, I caused one of my servants to sleep 
in the same room with me. I saw and heard nothing, either on 
that night or any of the nights following, until the next 
Friday; when I had again the same vision, with this dif- 
ference, that my valet seemed to be lying some distance from mo 
on the pavement of the Strada Stretta. The vision continued to 
be repeated on every Friday night, the commander always appear- 



142 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

ing in the same manner, and uttering the same words : ' Take 
my sword to Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses performed 
in the chapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 

" On questioning my servant on the subject, he stated, that 
on these occasions he drearned that he was lying in a very nar- 
ow street, but he neither saw nor heard any thing of the com- 
mander. 

" I knew nothing of this Tetefoulques, whither the defunct 
was so urgent I should carry his sword. I mad.e inquiries, there- 
fore, concerning it, among the French chevaliers. They informed 
me that it was an old castle, situated about four leagues from 
Poitiers, in the midst of a forest. It had been built in old times, 
several centuries since by Foulques Taillefer, (or Fulke Hack-iron,) 
a redoubtable hard-fighting Count of Angouleme, who gave it 
to an illegitimate son, afterwards created Grand Seneschal of 
Poitou, which son became the progenitor of the Foulquerres of 
Tetefoulques, hereditary seneschals of Poitou. They farther in- 
formed me, that strange stories were told of this old castle, in the 
surrounding country, and that it contained many curious reliques. 
Among these, were the arms of Foulques Taillefer, together with 
those of the warriors he had slain ; and that it was an imme- 
morial usage with the Foulquerres to have the weapons deposited 
there which they had yielded either in war or single combat. 
This, then, was the reason of the dying injunction of the com- 
mander respecting his sword. I carried this weapon with me, 
wherever I went, but still I neglected to comply with his request 

" The vision still continued to harass me with undiminished 
horror. I repaired to Kome, where I confessed myself to the 
'jirand Cardinal penitentiary, and informed him of the terrors 



THE GRAND PKIOE OF MINORCA. 143 

with vvliich I was haunted. He promised me absolution, after I 
should have performed certain acts of penance, the principal of 
which was to execute the dying request of the commander, by 
carrying his sword to Tetefoulques, and having the hundred mass- 
es performed in the chapel of the castle for the repose of his soul. 

" I set out for France as speedily as possible, and made no de- 
lay in my journey. On arriving at Poitiers, I found that the 
tidings of the death of the commander had reached there, but had 
caused no more affliction than among the people of Malta, Leav- 
ing my equipage in the town, I put on the garb of a pilgrim, and 
taking a guide, set out on foot for Tetefoulques. Indeed the 
roads in this part of the country were impracticable for carriages. 

"I found the castle of Tetefoulques a grand but gloomy and 
dilapidated pile. All the gates were closed, and there reigned 
over the whole place an air of almost savage loneliness and de- 
sertion. I had understood that its only inhabitants were the 
concierge, or warder, and a kind of hermit who had charge of the 
chapel. After ringing for some time at the gate, I at length suc- 
ceeded in bringing forth the warder, who bowed with reverence to 
my pilgrim's garb. I begged him to conduct me to the chapel, 
that being the end of my pilgrimage. We found the hermit there, 
chanting the funeral service ; a dismal sound to one who came to 
perform a penance for the death of a member of the family. 
When he had ceased to chant, I informed him that I came to ac- 
complish an obligation of conscience, and that I wished him to 
perform a hundred masses for the repose of the soul of the com- 
mander. He replied that, not being in orders, he was not author- 
ized to perform mass, but that he would willingly undertake to 
ee that my debt of conscience was discharged. I laid my offer- 



144 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

ing on tlie altar, and would have placed the sword of the com- 
mander there, likewise. ' Hold ! ' said the hermit, with a me- 
lancholy shake of the head, ' this is no place for so deadly a 
vreapon, that has so often been bathed in Christian blood. Take 
it to the armory ; you will find there trophies enough of like char- 
acter. It is a place into which I never enter.' 

" The warder here took up the theme abandoned by the 
peaceful man of God. He assured me that I would see in the 
armory the swords of all the warrior race of Foulquerres, together 
with those of the enemies over whom they had triumphed. This, 
he observed, had been a usage kept up since the time of Mellu- 
sine, and of her husband, Geoffrey a la Giand-dent, or Geoffrey 
with the Great-tooth. 

" I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. It was a 
great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic-looking portraits, of a 
stark line of warriors, each with his weapon, and the weapons of 
those he had slain in battle, hung beside his picture. The most 
conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Taillefer, (Fulke Hack- 
iron,) Count of Angouleme, and founder of the castle. He was 
represented at full length, armed cap-a-pie, and grasping a huge 
buckler, on which were emblazoned three lions passant. The 
figure was so striking, that it seemed ready to start from the 
canvas : and I observed beneath this picture, a trophy composed 
of many weapons, proofs of the numerous triumphs of this hard- 
fighting old cavalier. Beside the weapons connected with the 
portraits, there were swords of all shapes, sizes, and centuries, 
hung round the hall ; with piles of armor, placed as it were in 
effigy. 

" On each side of an immense chimney, were suspended the 



THE GRAND PEIOE OF MINORCA. 145 

portraits of the first seneschal of Poitou (the illegitimate son of 
Foulques Taillefer) and his wife Isabella de Lusignan ; the pro- 
genitors of the grim race of Foulquerres that frowned around. 
They had the look of being perfect likenesses ; and as I gazed on 
them, I fancied I could trace in their antiquated features some 
family resemblance to their unfortunate descendant, whom I had 
slain I This was a dismal neighborhood, yet the armory was the only 
part of the castle that had a habitable air ; so I asked the warder 
whether he could not make a fire, and give me something for sup- 
per there, and prepare me a bed in one corner. 

" ' A fire and a supper you shall have, and that cheerfully, 
most worthy pilgrim,' said he ; ' but as to a bed, I advise you to 
come and sleep in my chamber.' 

" * Why so ? ' inquired I ; ' why shall I not sleep in this 
hall?' 

" ' I have my reasons ; I will make a bed for you close to 
mine.' 

" I made no objections, for I recollected that it was Friday, 
and I dreaded the return of my vision. He brought in billets 
of wood, kindled a. fire in the great overhanging chimney, and 
then went forth to prepare my supper. I drew a heavy chair be- 
fore the fire, and seating myself in it, gazed musingly round upon 
the portraits of the Foulquerres, and the antiquated armor and 
weapons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. As the day de- 
clined, the smoky draperies of the hall gradually became con- 
founded with the dark ground of the paintings, and the lurid 
gleams from the chimney only enabled me to see visages staring 
at me from the gathering darkness. All this was dismal in the 
ex.treme, and somewhat appalling : perhaps it was the state of my 
7 



146 - THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

conscience that rendered me peculiarly sensitive, and prone to 
fearful imaginings. 

" At length the warder brought in my supper. It consisted 
of a dish of trout, and some crawfish taken in the fosse of the 
castle. • He procured also a bottle of wine, which he informed 
me was wine of Poitou. I requested him to invite the hermit to 
join me in my repast ; but the holy man sent back word that he 
allowed himself nothing but roots and herbs, cooked with water. 
I took my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it as much as 
possible, and sought to cheer my drooping spirits by the wine of 
Poitou, which I found very tolerable. 

" When supper was over, I prepared for my evening devotions. 
I have always been very punctual in reciting my breviary ; it is 
the prescribed and bounden duty of all cavaliers of the religious 
orders ; and I can answer for it, is faithfully performed by those 
of Spain. I accordingly drew forth from my pocket a small mis- 
sal and a rosary, and told the warder he need only designate to 
me the way to his chamber, where I could come and rejoin him, 
when I had finished my prayers. 

" He accordingly pointed out a winding stair-case, opening 
from the hall. ' You will descend this stair-case,' said he, ' until you 
come to the fourth landing-place, where you enter a vaulted pas- 
sage, terminated by an arcade, with a statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France : you cannot help finding my room, the door of 
which I will leave open ; it is the sixth door from the landing- 
place. I advise you not to remain in this hall after midnight. 
Before that hour, you will hear the hermit ring the bell, in 
going the rounds of the corridors. Do not linger here after that 
signal.' 



THE GKAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 147 

" The warder retired, and I commenced my devotions. I con. 
fcmued at them earnestly ; pausing from time to time to put wood 
upon the fire. I did not dare to look much around me, for I felt 
myself becoming a prey to fearful fancies. The pictures appeared 
to become animated. If I regarded one attentively, for any 
length of time, it seemed to move the eyes and lips. Above all, 
the portraits of the Grand Seneschal and his lady, which hung on 
each side of the great chimney, the progenitors of the Foulquerres of 
Tetefoulques, regarded me, I thought, with angry and baleful 
eyes : I even fancied they exchanged significant glances with each 
other. Just then a terrible blast of wind shook all the case- 
ments, and, rushing through the hall, made a fearful rattling and 
clashing among the armor. To my startled fancy, it seemed 
something supernatural. 

" At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and hastened to 
quit the hall. Taking a solitary light, which stood on the upper 
table, I descended the winding stair-case ; but before I had 
reached the vaulted passage, leading to the statue of the blessed 
Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished my taper. I 
hastily remounted the stairs, to light it again at the chimney ; but 
judge of my feelings, when, on arriving at the entrance to the ar- 
mory, I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who had descended 
from their frames, and seated themselves on each side of the 
fire-place ! 

" ' Madam, my love,' said the Seneschal, with great formality^ 
and in antiquated phrase, ' what think you of the presumption 
of this Castilian, who comes to harbor himself and make wassail 
in this our castle, after having slain our descendant, the com- 
Kander, and that without granting him time for confession ? ' 



148 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

" ' Truly, my lord,' answered' the female spectre, with no less 
Btateliness of manner, and with great asperity of tone — ' truly, 
my lord, I opme that this Castilian did a grievous wrong in this 
encounter ; and he should never be suffered to depart hence, with- 
out your throwing him the gauntlet.' I paused to hear no 
more, hut rushed again down stairs, to seek the chamber of the 
warder. It was impossible to find it in the darkness, and in the 
perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a half of fruitless 
search, and mortal horror and anxieties, I endeavored to persuade 
myself that the day was about to break, and listened impatiently 
for the crowing of the cock ; for I thought if I could hear his 
cheerful note, I should be reassured ; catching, in the disordered 
state of my nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts never ap- 
pear after the first crowing of the cock. 

" At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to shake off the 
vague terrors which haunted me. I tried to persuade myself that 
the two figures which I had seemed to see and hear, had existed 
only in my troubled imagination. I still had the end of a candle 
in my hand, and determined to make another effort to re-light it, 
and find my way to bed ; for I was ready to sink with fatigue. 
I accordingly sprang up the stair-case, three steps at a time, stop- 
ped at the door of the armory, and peeped cautiously in. The 
two Gothic figures were no longer in the chimney corners, but I 
neglected to notice whether they had re-ascended to their frames. 
I entered, and made desperately for the fire-place, but scarce had 
I advanced three strides, when Messire Foulques Taillefer stood 
before me, in the centre of the hall, armed cap-a-pie, and stand- 
ing in guard, with the point of his sword silently presented to 
me I would have retreated to the stair-case, but the door of it 



THE GRAND PKIOE OF MmORCA. 149 

was occupied by the phantom figure ot an esquire, who rudely 
flung a gauntlet in my face. Driven to fury, I snatched down a 
sword from the wall : by chance, it was that of the commander 
which I had placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic adversary, 
and seemed to pierce him through and through ; but at the same 
time I felt as if something pierced my heart, burning like a red- 
hot iron. My blood inundated the hall, and I fell senseless. 



" When I recovered consciousness, it was broad day, and I 
found myself in a small chamber, attended by the warder and the 
hermit. The former told me that on the previous night, he had 
awakened long after the midnight hour, and perceiving that I had 
not come to his chamber, he had furnished himself with a vase of 
holy water, and set out to seek me. He found me stretched 
senseless on the pavement of the armory, and bore me to his 
room. I spoke of my wound ; and of the quantity of blood that I had 
lost. He shook his head, and knew nothing about it ; and to my 
surprise, on examination, I found myself perfectly sound and un- 
harmed. The wound and blood, therefore, had been all delusion. 
Neither the warder nor the hermit put any questions to me, but 
advised me to leave the castle as soon as possible. I lost no 
time in complying with their counsel, and felt my heart relieved 
from an oppressive weight, as I left the gloomy and fate-bound 
battlements of Tetefoulques behind me. 

" I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, on the following 
Friday. At midnight I was startled from my sleep, as I had 
formerly been ; but it was no longer by the vision of the dying 
commander. It wag old Foulques Taillefer who stood before me, 



150 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 

armed cap-a-pie, and presenting the point of his sword. I made 
the sign of the cross, and the spectre vanished, but I received 
the same red-hot thrust in the heart which I had felt in the ar- 
mory, and I seemed to be bathed in blood. I would have called 
out, or have risen from my bed and gone in quest of succor, but 
I could neither speak nor stir. This agony endured until the 
crowing of the cock, when I fell asleep again ; but the next day 
I was ill, and in a most pitiable state. I have continued to be 
harassed by the same vision every Friday night ; no acts of peni- 
tence and devotion have been able to relieve me from it ; and it 
is only a lingering hope in divine mercy that sustains me, and 
enables me to support so lamentable a visitation." 



The G-rand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually away under this 
constant remorse of conscience, and this horrible incubus. He 
died some time after having revealed the preceding particulars of 
his case, evidently the victim of a diseased imagination. 

The above relation has been rendered, in many parts literally, 
from the French memoir, in which it is given as a true story : if 
so, it is one of those instances in which truth is more romantio 
than fiction. 



"A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY." 

In tlie course of a voyage from England, I once fell in with a 
convoy of mercliant ships, bound for the West Indies. The 
weather was uncommonly bland ; and the ships vied with each 
other in spreading sail to catch a light, favoring breeze, until 
their hulls were almost hidden beneath a cloud of canvas. The 
breeze went down with the sun, and his last yellow rays shone 
upon a thousand sails, idly flapping against the masts. 

I exulted in the beauty of the scene, and augured a prosper- 
ous voyage ; but the veteran master of the ship shook his head, 
and pronounced this halcyon calm a " weather-breeder." And so 
it proved. A storm burst forth in the night ; the sea roared and 
raged ; and when the day broke, I beheld the late gallant convoy 
scattered in every direction; some dismasted, others scudding 
tinder bare poles, and many firing signals of distress. 

I have since been occasionally remiijded of this scene, by those 
calm, sunny seasons in the commercial world, which are known 
by the name of " times of unexampled prosperity." They are 
the sure weather-breeders of traffic. Every now and then the 
world is visited by one of these delusive seasons, when '• the cre- 
dit system," as it is called, expands to full luxuriance : every 



152 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY 

body trusts everybody; a bad debt is a thing unheard of; the 
broad way to certain and sudden wealth lies plain and open ; and 
men are tempted to dash forward boldly, from the facility of bor- 
rowing. 

Promissory notes, interchanged between scheming individuals, 
a.-e liberally discounted at the banks, which become so many mints 
to coin words into cash ; and as the supply of words is inexhaust- 
ible, it may readily be supposed what a vast amount of promis- 
sory capital is soon in circulation. Every one now talks in thou- 
sands ; nothing is heard but gigantic operations in trade ; great 
purchases and sales of real property, and immense sums made at 
every transfer. All, to be sure, as yet exists in promise ; bnt the 
believer in promises calculates the aggregate as solid capital, and 
falls back in amazement at the amount of public wealth, the " un- 
exampled state of public prosperity ! " 

Now is the time for speculative and dreaming or designing 
men. They relate their dreams and projects to the ignorant and 
credulous, dazzle them with golden visions, and set them madden- 
ing after shadows. The example of one stimulates another ; 
speculation rises on speculation; bubble rises on bubble; every one 
helps with his breath to swell the windy superstructure, and ad- 
mires and wonders at the magnitude of the inflation he has con- 
tributed to produce. 

Speculation is the romance of trade, and casts contempt upon 
all its sober realities. It renders the stock-jobber a magician, and 
the exchange a region of enchantment. It elevates the merchant 
into a kind of knight-errant, or rather a commercial Quixote. 
The slow but sure gains of snug percentage become despicable in 
his eyes : no " operation" is thought worthy of attention, that does 



A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY. 153 

not double or treble the investment. No business is worth fol 
lowing, that does not promise an immediate fortune. As he sits 
musing over his ledger, with pen behind his ear, he is like La 
Mancha's hero in his study, dreaming over his books of chivalry. 
His dusty counting-house fades before his eyes, or changes into 3 
Spanish mine : he gropes after diamonds, or dives after pearls 
The subterranean garden of Aladdin is nothing to the realms of 
wealth that break upon his imagination. 

Could this delusion always last, the life of a merchant would 
indeed be a golden dream ; but it is as short as it is brilliant. 
Let but a doubt enter, and the " season of unexampled prosperity" 
is at end. The coinage of words is suddenly curtailed ; the pro- 
missory capital begins to vanish into smoke ; a panic succeeds, 
and the whole superstructure, built upon credit, and reared by 
speculation, crumbles to the ground, leaving scarce a^prreck behind : 

" It is such stuff as dreams are made of." 

When a man of business, therefore, hears on every side rumors 
of fortunes suddenly acquired ; when he finds banks liberal, and 
brokers busy ; when he sees adventurers flush of paper capital, 
and full of scheme and enterprise ; when he perceives a greater 
disposition to buy than to sell ; when trade overflows its ac- 
customed channels, and deluges the country ; when he hears of 
new regions of commercial adventure ; of distant marts and dis- 
tant mines, swallowing merchandise and disgorging gold ; when 
he finds joint stock companies of all kinds forming ; railroads, 
canals^ and locomotive engines, springing up on every side ; 
when idlers suddenly become men of business, and dash into the 
game of commerce as they would into the hazards of the faro ta. 



154 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY. 

ble , when he beholds the streets glittering with new equipagss, 
palaces conjured up by the magic of speculation; tradesmen 
flushed with sudden success, and vying with each other in osten- 
tatious expense; in a word, when he hears the whole community 
joining in the theme of " unexampled prosperity," let him look 
upon the whole as a " weather- breeder," and prepare for the im- 
pending storm. 

The foregoing remarks are intended merely as a prelude to 
a narrative I am about to lay before the public, of one of the 
most memorable instances of the infatuation of gain, to be found 
in the whole history of commerce. I allude to the famous Mis- 
sissippi bubble. It is a matter that has passed into a proverb, 
and become a phrase in every one's mouth, yet of which not one 
merchant in ten has probably a distinct idea. I have therefore 
thought that an authentic account of it would be interesting and 
salutary, at the present moment, when we are suffering under 
the effects of a severe access of the credit system, and just re- 
covering from one of its ruinous delusions. 



THE GKEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 

Before entering into the story of this famous chimera, it is 
proper to give a few particulars concerning the individual who en- 
gendered it. John Law was born in Edinburgh, in 1671. His 
father, William Law, was a rich goldsmith, and left his son an 
estate of considerable value, called Lauriston, situated about four 



THE GKEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 155 

miles from Edinburgh. Goldsmiths, in those days, acted occa- 
sionally as bankers, and his father's operations, under this charac- 
ter, may have originally turned the thoughts of the youth to the 
science of calculation, in which he became an adept ; so that at an 
early age he excelled in playing at all games of combination. 

In 1694, he appeared in London, where a handsome person, 
and an easy and insinuating address, gained him currency in th6 
first circles, and the nickname of " Beau Law." The same per- 
sonal advantages gave him success in the world of gallantry, until 
he became involved in a quarrel with Beau Wilson, his rival in 
fashion, whom he killed in a duel, and then fled to France to avoid 
prosecution. 

He returned to Edinburgh in 1700, and remained there sever- 
al years ; during which time he first broached his great credit sys- 
tem, offering to supply the deficiency of coin by the establishment 
of a bank, which, according to his views, might emit a paper cur- 
rency equivalent to the whole landed estate of the kingdom. 

His scheme excited great astonishment in Edinburgh; but, 
though the government was not sujB&ciently advanced in financial 
knowledge to detect the fallacies upon which it was founded, 
Scottish caution and suspicion served in place of wisdom, and the 
project was rejected. Law met with no better success with the 
English parliament ; and the fatal affair of the death of Wilson 
still hanging over him, for which he had never been able to pro • 
cure a pardon, he again went to France. 

The financial affairs of France were at this time in a deplora- 
ble condition. The wars, the pomp, and profusion, of Louis XIV., 
and his religious persecutions of whole classes of the most indus- 
trious of his subjects, had exhausted his treasury, and overwhelm- 



356 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITT. 

ed the nation with debt. The old monarch clang to his selfish 
magnificence, and could not be induced to diminish his enormous 
expenditure ; and his minister of finance was driven to his wits' 
end to devise all kinds of disastrous expedients to keep up the 
royal state, and to extricate the nation from its embarrassments. 

In this state of things. Law ventured to bring forward his fi- 
nancial project. It was founded on the plan of the Bank of 
England, which had already been in successful operation several 
years. He met with immediate patronage, and a congenial spirit, 
in the Duke of Orleans, who had married a natural daughter ot 
the king. The duke had been astonished at the facility with 
which England had supported the burden of a public debt, crea- 
ted by the wars of Anne and William, and which exceeded in 
amount that under which France was groaning. The whole mat- 
ter was soon explained by Law to his satisfaction. The latter 
maintained that England had stopped at the mere threshold of 
an art capable of creating unlimited sources of national wealth. 
The duke was dazzled with his splended views and specious rea- 
sonings, and thought he clearly comprehended his system. Dem- 
arets, the Comptroller General of Finance, was not so easily de- 
ceived. He pronounced the plan of Law more pernicious than 
any of the disastrous expedients that the government had yet 
been driven to. The old king also, Louis XIV., detested all in- 
novations, especially those which came from a rival nation : the 
project of a bank, therefore, was utterly rejected. 

Law remained for a while in Paris, leading a gay and aflSucnt 
existence, owing to his handsome person, easy manners, flexible 
temper, and a faro-bank which he had set up. His agreeable ca- 
reer was interrupted by a message from D'Argenson, Lieutenant 



THE GKEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 157 

General of Police, ordering him to quit Paris, alleging that he 
was " rather too skilful at the game which he had introduced /''' 

For several succeeding years, he shifted his residence from 
state to state of Italy and Grermany ; offering his scheme of fi- 
nance to every court that he visited, but without success. The 
Duke of Savoy, Victor Amadeas, afterward King of Sardinia, 
was much struck with his project ; but after considering it for a 
time, replied; " I am not sufficiently powerful to ruin myself'' 

The shifting, adventurous life of Law, and the equivocal 
means by which he appeared to live, playing high, and always 
with great success, threw a cloud of suspicion over him, wher- 
ever he went, and caused him to be expelled by the magistracy 
from the semi-commercial, semi-aristocratical cities of Venice and 
Genoa. 

The events of 1715, brought Law back again to Paris. 
Louis XIV. was dead. Lous XV. was a mere child, and during 
his minority the Duke of Orleans held the reins of government 
as Regent. Law had at length found his man. 

The Duke of Orleans has been differently represented by dif- 
ferent contemporaries. He appears to have had excellent natural 
qualities, perverted by a bad education. He was of the middle 
size, easy and graceful, with an agreeable countenance, and open, 
affable demeanor. His mind was quick and sagacious, rather 
than profound ; and his quickness of intellect and excellence of 
memory, supplied the lack of studious application. His wit was 
prompt and pungent ; he expressed himself with vivacity and pre- 
cision ; his imagination was vivid, his temperament sanguine and 
joyous ; his courage daring. His mother, the Duchess of Orleans, 
expressed his character in a jeu d'esprit. The fairies,' said she 



168 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY, 

" were invited to be present at his birtb, and eaeb one conferring a 
talent on my son, be possesses tbem all. Unfortunately, we bad 
forgotten to invite an old fairy, wbo, arriving after all tbe otbers, 
exclaimed, ' He sball bave all tbe talents, excepting tbat to 
make good use of tbem." 

Under proper tuition, tbe duke migbt bave risen to real 
greatness ; but in bis early years, be was put under tbe tutelage 
of tbe Abbe Dubois, one of tbe subtlest and basest spirits tbat 
ever intrigued its way into eminent place and power. Tbe Abbe 
was of low origin and despicable exterior, totally destitute of 
morals, and perfidious in tbe extreme; but witb a supple, insinu- 
ating address, and an accommodating spirit, tolerant of all kinds 
of profligacy in otbers. Conscious of bis own inherent baseness, be 
sought to secure an influence over bis pupil, by corrupting bis 
principles, and fostering bis vices : he debased him, to keep him- 
self from being despised. Unfortunately be succeeded. To tbe 
early precepts of this infamous pander bave been attributed 
those excesses tbat disgraced tbe manhood of tbe Regent, and 
gave a licentious character to his whole course of government. 
His love of pleasure, quickened and indulged by those who should 
bave restrained it, led him into all kinds of sensual indulgence. 
He bad been taught to think lightly of tbe most serious duties 
and sacred ties, to turn virtue into a jest, and consider religion 
mere hypocrisy. He was a gay misanthrope, tbat bad a sover- 
eign but sportive contempt for mankind ; believed tbat bis most 
devoted servant would be bis enemy, if interest prompted ; and 
maintained that an honest man was he who had tbe art to con- 
eeal tbat he was the contrary. 

He surrounded himself with a set of dissolute men like himself, 



THE GREAT MISSISSirPI BUKBLE. 159 

who, let loose from the restraint under which they had beeo 
held, during the latter hypocritical days of Louis XIV., now gave 
way to every kind of debauchery. With these men the Regent 
used to shut himself up, after the hours of business, and exclud- 
ing all graver persons and graver concerns, celebrate the most 
drunken and disgusting orgies, where obscenity and blasphemy 
formed the seasoning of conversation. For the profligate com- 
panions of these revels he invented the appellation of his roues, 
the literal meaning of which is, men broken on the wheel ; in- 
tended, no doubt, to express their broken-down characters and 
dislocated fortunes ; although a contemporary asserts that it 
designated the punishment that most of them merited. Madame 
de Labran, who was present at one of the Regent's suppers, was 
disgusted by the conduct and conversation of the host and his 
guests, and observed at table, that God, after he had created 
man, took the refuse clay that was left, and made of it the souls 
of lackeys and princes. 

Such was the man that now ruled the destinies of France. 
Law found him full of perplexities, from the disastrous state of 
the finances. He had already tampered with the coinage, calling 
in the coin of the nation, re-stamping it, and issuing it at a nomi- 
nal increase of one fifth ; thus defrauding the nation out of twenty 
per cent, of its capital. He was not likely, therefore, to be scru- 
pulous about any means likely to relieve him from financial diffi- 
culties : he had even been led to listen to the cruel alternative 
of a national bankruptcy. 

Under these ciBCumstances, Law confidently brought forward 
bis scheme of a bank, that was to pay off the national debt, in- 
Drcase the revenue, and at the same time diminish the taxea 



160 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY. 

The following is stated as the theory by which he recommeudod 
his system to the Regent. The credit enjoyed by a banker or a 
merchant, he observed, increases his capital tenfold; that is to 
say, he who has a capital of one hundred thousand livres, may, if 
he possess sufficient credit, extend his operations to a million, 
nd reap profits to that amount. In like manner, a state that 
can collect into a bank all the current coin of the kingdom, would 
be as powerful as if its capital were increased tenfold. The 
specie must be drawn into the bank, not by way of loan, or by 
taxations, but in the way of deposit. This might be effected in 
different modes, either by inspiring confidence, or by exerting 
authority. One mode, he observed, had already been in use. 
Each time that a state makes a re-coinage, it becomes momen- 
tarily the depository of all the money called in, belonging to the 
subjects of that state. His bank was to effect the same purpose ; 
that is to say, to receive in deposit all the coin of the kingdom, 
but to give in exchange its bills, which, being of an invariable 
value, bearing an interest, and being payable on demand, would 
not only supply the place of coin, but prove a better and more 
profitable currency. 

The Regent caught with avidity at the scheme. It suited his 
bold, reckless spirit, and his grasping extravagance. Not that he 
was altogether the dupe of Law's specious projects : still he was 
apt, like many other men, unskilled in the arcana of finance, to 
mistake the multiplication of money, for the multiplication of 
wealth ; not understanding that it was a mere agent or instru- 
ment in the interchange of traffic, to represeirt the value of the 
various productions of industry ; and that an increased circulation 
of coin or bank-bills, in the shape of currency, only adds a proper- 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 161 

tionably increased and fictitious value to such productions. Law 
enlisted the vanity of the Regent in his cause. He persuaded 
him that he sav? more clearly than others into sublime theories 
of finance, which were quite above the ordinary apprehension. He 
used to declare that, excepting the Regent and the Duke of Savoy, 
no one had thoroughly comprehended his system. 

It is certain that it met with strong opposition from the 
Regent's ministers, the Duke de Noailles and the Chancelloi 
d'Anguesseau ; and it was no less strenuously opposed by the 
parliament of Paris. Law, however, had a potent though secret 
coadjutor in the Abbe Dubois, now rising, during the regency, 
into great political power, and who retained a baneful influence 
over the mind of the Regent. This wily priest, as avaricious as 
he was ambitious, drew large sums from Law as subsidies, and 
aided him greatly in many of his most pernicious operations. He 
aided him, in the present instance, to fortify the mind of the 
Regent against all the remonstrances of his ministers and the 
parliament. 

Accordingly, on the 2d of May, 1716, letters patent were 
granted to Law, to establish a bank of deposit, discount, and cir- 
culation, under the firm of " Law and Company," to continue for 
twenty years. The capital was fixed at six millions of livres, di- 
vided into shares of five hundred livres each, which were to be 
sold for twenty-five per cent, of the regent's debased coin, and 
seventy-five per cent, of the public securities, which were then at 
a great reduction from their nominal value, and which then 
amounted to nineteen hundred millions. The ostensible object 
of the bank, as set forth in the patent, was to encourage the com- 
merce and manufactures of France. The louis-d'ors, and crowns 



162 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEEITY. 

of the bank were always to retain the same standard of value, and 
its bills to be payable in them on demand. 

At the outset, while the bank was limited in its operations, 
and while its paper really represented the specie in its vaults, it 
seemed to realize all that had been promisod from it. It rapidly 
acquired public confidence, and an extended circulation, and pro- 
duced an activity in commerce, unknown under the baneful 
government of Louis XIV. As the bills of the bank bore an 
interest, and as it was stipulated they would be of invariable 
value, and as hints had been artfully circulated that the coin 
would experience successive diminution, every body hastened to 
the bank to exchange gold and silver for paper. So great became 
the throng of depositors, and so intense their eagerness, that 
there was quite a press and struggle at the back door, and a 
ludicrous panic was awakened, as if there was danger of their 
not being admitted. An anecdote of the time relates, that one 
of the clerks, with an ominous smile, called out to the struggling 
multitude, " Have a little patience, my friends ; we mean to take 
all your money ; " an assertion disastrously verified in the sequel. 

Thus by the simple establishment of a bank, Law and the 
Regent obtained pledges of confidence for the consummation of 
farther and more complicated schemes, as yet hidden from the 
public. In a little while the bank shares rose enormously, and the 
amount of its notes in' circulation exceeded one hundred and ten 
millions of livres. A subtle stroke of policy had rendered it popu- 
lar with the aristocracy. Louis XIV. had several years previously 
imposed an income tax of a tenth, giving his royal word that it 
should cease in 1717. This tax had been exceedingly irksome to 
the privileged orders ; and, in the present disastrous times, they 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 163 

had dreaded an augmentation of it. In consequence of the suc- 
cessful operation of Law's scheme, however, the tax was abolished, 
and now nothing was to be heard among the nobility and clergy 
but praises of the Regent and the bank. 

Hitherto all had gone well, and all might have continued to go 
well, had not the paper system been farther expanded. But Law 
had yet the grandest part of his scheme to develope. He had to 
open his ideal world of speculation, his El Dorado of unbounded 
wealth. The English had brought the vast imaginary commerce 
of the South Seas in aid of their banking operations. Law 
sought to bring, as an immense auxiliary of his bank, the whole 
trade of the Mississippi. Under this name was included not 
merely the river so called, but the vast region known as Louisi- 
ana, extending from north latitude 29° up to Canada in north 
latitude 40°. This country had been granted by Louis XIV. to 
the Sieur Crozat, but he had been induced to resign his patent. 
In conformity to the plea of Mr. Law, letters patent were granted 
in August, 1717, for the creation of a commercial company, which 
was to have the colonizing of this country, and the monopoly of 
its trade and resources, and of the beaver or fur trade with 
Canada. It was called the Western, but became better known 
as the Mississippi Company. The capital was fixed at one hun- 
dred millions of livres, divided into shares, bearing an interest of 
four per cent., which were subscribed for in the public securities. 
As the bank was to cooperate with the company, the Regent 
ordered that its bills should be received the same as coin, in all 
payments of the public revenue. Law was appointed chief 
director of this company, which was an exact copy of the Earl of 
Oxford's South Sea Company, set on foot in 1711, and which dis- 



164 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKl-iY. 

tracted all England with the frenzy of speculation. In like man- 
ner with the delusive pieturings given in that memorable scheme 
of the sources of rich trade to be opened in the South Sea 
countries, Law held forth magnificent prospects of the fortunns 
to be made in colonizing Louisiana, which was represented as a 
veritable land of promise, capable of yielding every variety of the 
most precious produce. Reports, too, were artfully circulated, with 
great mystery, as if to the " chosen few," of mines of gold and 
silver recently discovered in Louisiana, and which would insure 
instant wealth to the early purchasers. These confidential whis- 
pers of course soon became public ; and were confirmed by travel- 
lers fresh from the Mississippi, and doubtless bribed, who had 
seen the mines in question, and declared them superior in richness 
to those of Mexico and Peru. Nay more, ocular proof was fur- 
nished to public credulity, in ingots of gold, conveyed to the 
mint, as if just brought from the mines of Louisiana. 

Extraordinary measures were adopted to force a colonization. 
An edict was issued to collect and transport settlers to the Mis- 
sissippi. The police lent its aid. The streets and prisons of 
Paris, and of the provincial cities, were swept of mendicants and 
vagabonds of all kinds, who were conveyed to Havre de Grrace. 
About six thousand were crowded into ships, where no precautions 
had been taken for their health or accommodation. Instruments 
of all kinds proper for the working of mines were ostentatiously 
paraded in public, and put on board the vessels ; and the whole 
Bet sail for this fabled El Dorado, which was to prove the grave 
of the greater part of its wretched colonists. 

D'Anguesseau, the chancellor, a man of probity and integrity, 
still lifted his voice against the paper system of Law, and his pro 



TIIK GRKAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. ICo 

ject of colonization, and was eloquent and prophetic in picturing 
the evils they were calculated to produce ; the private distress and 
public degradation; the corruption of morals and manners; the 
triumph of knaves and schemers ; the ruin of fortunes, and down- 
fall of families. He was incited more and more to this opposition 
by the Duke de Noailles, the Minister of Finance, who was jealous 
of the growing ascendency of Law over the mind of the regent, 
but was less honest than the chancellor in his opposition. The 
Regent was excessively annoyed by the difficulties they conjured 
ap in the way of his darling schemes of finance, and the counte- 
nance they gave to the opposition of parliament ; which body, dis- 
gusted more and more with the abuses of the regency, and the 
system of Law, had gone so far as to carry its remonstrances to 
the very foot of the throne. 

He determined to relieve himself from these two ministers, 
who, either through honesty or policy, interfered with all his 
plans. Accordingly, on the 28th of January, 1718, he dismissed 
the chancellor from office, and exiled him to his estate in the 
country ; and shortly afterward removed the Duke de Noailles 
from the administration of the finance. 

The opposition of parliament to the Regent and his measures 
was carried on with increasing violence. That body aspired to an 
equal authority with the Regent in the administration of affairs, 
and pretended, by its decree, to suspend an edict of the regency 
ordering a new coinage, and altering the value of the currency. 
But its chief hostility was levelled against Law, a foreigner and 
a heretic, and one who was considered by a majority of the mem- 
bers in the light of a malefactor. In fact, so far was this hostili. 
ty carried, that secret measures were taken to investigate his mal- 



166 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEEITY. 

versations, and to collect evidence against him ; and it was resolv< 
ed in parliament that, should the testimony collected justify their 
suspicions, they would have him seized and brought before them ; 
would give him a brief trial, and if convicted, would hang him 
in the court-yard of the palace, and throw open the gates after the 
execution, that the public might behold his corpse ! 

Law received intimation of the danger hanging over him, and 
was in terrible trepidation. He took refuge in the Palais Royal, 
the residence of the Regent, and implored his protection. The 
Regent himself was embarrassed by the sturdy opposition of parlia- 
ment, which contemplated nothing less than a decree reversing 
most of his public measures, especially those of finance. His in- 
decision kept Law for a time in an agony of terror and suspense. 
Finally, by assembling a board of justice, and bringing to his aid 
the absolute authority of the king, he triumphed over parliament, 
and relieved Law from his dread of being hanged. 

The system now went on with flowing sail. The Western, or 
Mississippi Company, being identified with the bank, rapidly in- 
creased in power and privileges. One monopoly after another 
was granted to it ; the trade of the Indian Seas ; the slave trade 
with Senegal and Guinea ; the farming of tobacco ; the national 
coinage, etc. Each new privilege was made a pretext for issuing 
more bills, and caused an immense advance in the price of stock. 
At length, on the 4th of December, 1718, the Regent gave the es- 
tablishment the imposing title of The Royal Bank, and pro- 
claimed that he had eflected the purchase of all the shares, the pro- 
ceeds of which he had added to its capital. This measure seemed 
to shock the public feeling more than any other connected with 
he system, and roused the indignation of parliament. The French 



THE GREAT JSIISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 167 

nation had been so accustomed to attach an idea of every thing 
noble, lofty, and magnificent, to the royal name and person, es- 
pecially during the stately and sumptuous reign of Louis XIV., 
that they could not at first tolerate the idea of royalty being in any 
degree mingled with matters of traffic and finance, and the king 
being in a manner a banker. It was one of the downward steps, 
however, by which royalty lost its illusive splendor in France and 
became gradually cheapened in the public mind. 

Arbitrary measures now began to be taken to force the bills 
of the bank into artificial currency. On the 27th of December, ap- 
peared an order in council, forbidding, under severe penalties, the 
payment of any sum above six hundred livres in gold or silver. 
This decree rendered bank bills necessary in all transactions of 
purchase and sale, and called for a new emission. The prohibi- 
tion was occasionally evaded or opposed ; confiscations were the 
consequence ; informers were rewarded, and spies and traitors be- 
gan to spring up in all the domestic walks of life. 

The worst effect of this illusive system was the mania for 
gain, or rather for gambling in stocks, that now seized upon the 
whole nation. Under the exciting effects of lying reports, and 
the forcing effects of government decrees, the shares of the com- 
pany went on rising in value, until they reached thirteen hundred 
per cent. Nothing was now spoken of but the price of shares, 
and the immense fortunes suddenly made by lucky speculators. 
Those whom Law had deluded used every means to delude others. 
The most extravagant dreams were indulged, concerning the wealth 
to flow in upon the company, from its colonies, its trade, and its 
various monopolies. It is true, nothing as yet had been realized, 
nor could in some time be realized, from these distant sources 



168 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEEITY. 

even if productive ; but the imaginations of speculators are ever 
in the advance, and their conjectures are immediately converted 
into facts. Lying reports now flew from mouth to mouth, of sure 
avenues to fortune suddenly thrown open. The more extrava- 
gant the fable, the more readily was it believed. To doubt, was 
to awaken anger, or incur ridicule. In a time of public infatua- 
tion, it requires no small exercise of courage to doubt a popular 
fallacy. 

Paris now became the centre of attraction for the adventurous 
and the avaricious, who flocked to it not merely from the prov- 
inces, but from neighboring countries. A stock exchange was es- 
tablished in a house in the E,ue Quincampoix, and became imme- 
diately the gathering place of stock-jobbers. The exchange open 
ed at seven o'clock with the beat of drum and sound of bell, and 
closed at night with the same signals. Guards were stationed at 
each end of the street, to maintain order and exclude carriages 
and horses. The whole street swarmed throughout the day like a 
bee-hive. Bargains of all kinds were seized upon with avidity. 
Shares of stock passed from hand to hand, mounting in value, one 
knew not why. Fortunes were made in a moment as if by magic ; 
and every lucky bargain prompted those around to a more despe- 
rate throw of the die. The fever went on, increasing in intensity 
as the day declined ; and when the drum beat, and the bell rang, at 
night, to close the exchange, there were exclamations of impatience 
and despair, as if the wheel of fortune had suddenly been stopped, 
when about to make its luckiest evolution.,. 

To ingulf all classes in this ruinous vortex. Law now split the 
shares of fifty millions of stock each into one hundred shares .; 
jhus, as in the splitting of lottery tickets, accommodating the ven 



TFIE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE, 1(39 

fcure to the humblest purse. Society was thus stirred up to its 
verj dregs, and adventurers of the lowest order hurried to the 
Btock market. All honest, industrious pursuits, and modest 
gains, were now despised. Wealth was to be obtained instantly, 
without labor, and without stint. The upper classes were as baso 
in their venality as the lower. The highest and most powerful 
nobles, abandoning all generous pursuits and lofty aims, engaged 
in the vile scuffle for gain. Thay were even baser than the lower 
classes ; for some of them, who were members of the council of 
the regency, abused their station and their influence, and promo- 
ted measures by which shares arose while in their hands, and 
they made immense profits. 

The Duke de Bourbon, the Prin3e of Conti, the Dukes de la 
Force and D'Antin , were among the foremost of these illustrious 
stock-jobbers. They were nicknamed the Mississippi Lords, and 
they smiled at the sneering title. In fact, the usual distinctions 
of society had lost their consequence, under the reign of this new 
passion. Kank, talent, military fame, no longer inspired defer- 
ence. All respect for others, all sjilf-respect, were forgotten in 
the mercenary struggle of the stock-market. Even prelates and 
ecclesiastical corporations, forgetting their true objects of devo- 
tion, mingled among the votaries of mammon. They were not 
behind those who wielded the civil power in fabricating ordinances 
suited to their avaricious purposes. Theological decisions forth- 
with appeared, in which the anathema launched by the church 
against usury, was conveniently construed as not extending to the 
traffia in bank shares ! 

The Abbe Dubois entered into the mysteries of stock-jobbing 
with all the zeal of an apostle, and enriched himself by the spoils 



170 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEEITY. 

of the credulous; and he continually drew large sums from Law, 
as considerations for his political influence. Faithless to his 
country, in the course of his gambling speculations he transferred 
to England a great amount of specie, which had been paid into 
the royal treasury ; thus contributing to the subsequent dearth 
of the precious metals. 

The female sex participated in this sordid frenzy. Princesses 
of the blood, and ladies of the highest nobility, were among the 
most rapacious of stock-jobbers. The Regent seemed to have the 
riches of Croesus at his command, and lavished money by hun- 
dreds of thousands upon his female relatives and favorites, as well 
as tipon his roues, the dissolute companions of his debauches. 
" My son," writes the Regent's mother, in her correspondence, 
" gave me shares to the amount of two millions, which I distri- 
buted among my household. The king also took several millions 
for his own household. All the royal family have had them ; all 
the children and grandchildren of France, and the princes of the 
blood." 

Luxury and extravagance kept pace with this sudden inflation 
of fancied wealth. The hereditary palaces of nobles were pulled 
down, and rebuilt on a scale of augmented splendor. Entertain- 
ments were given, of incredible cost and magnificence. Never 
before had been such display in houses, furniture, equipages, and 
amusements. This was particularly the case among persons of 
the lower ranks, who had suddenly become possessed of millions. 
Ludicrous anecdotes are related of some of these upstarts. One, 
who had just launched a splendid carriage, when about to use it 
for the first time, instead of getting in at the door, mounted, 
through habitude, to his accustomed place behind Some ladies 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 171 

of quality, seeing a well-dressed woman covered with diamonds, 
but whom nobody knew, alight from a very handsome carriage, 
inquired who she was, of the footman. He replied, with a sneer : 
" It is a lady who has recently tumbled from a garret into this 
c-irriage." Mr. Law's domestics were said to become in like man- 
ner suddenly enriched by the crumbs that fell from his table. 
His coachman, having made a fortune, retired from his service. 
Mr. Law requested him to procure a coachman in his place. He 
appeared the next day with two, whom he pronounced equally 
good, and told Mr. Law : " Take which of them you choose, and 
T will take the other ! " 

Nor were these novi homini treated with the distance and 
disdain they would formerly have experienced from the haughty 
aristocracy of France. The pride of the old noblesse had been 
stifled by the stronger instinct of avarice. They rather sought 
the intimacy and confidence of these lucky upstarts ; and it has 
been observed that a nobleman would gladly take his seat at the 
table of the fortunate lackey of yesterday, in hopes of learning 
from him the secret of growing rich ! 

Law now went about with a countenance radiant with success, 
and apparently dispensing wealth on every side. " He is admira- 
bly skilled in all that relates to finance," writes the Duchess of 
Orleans, the Regent's mother, " and has put the affairs of the 
state in such good order, that all the king's debts have been 
paid. He is so much run after, that he has no repose night or 
day. A duchess even kissed his hand publicly. If a duchess can 
do this, what will other ladies do ! " 

Wherever he went, his path, we are told, was beset by a sor- 
:3id throng, who waited to see him pass, and sought to obtain the 



1Y2 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEKITT, 

favor of a word, a nod^ or smile, as if a mere glance from him 
would bestow fortune. When at home, his house was absolutely 
besieged by furious candidates for fortune. " They forced the 
doors," says the Duke de St. Simon ; " they scaled his windows 
from the garden ; they made their way into his cabinet down the 
chimney ! " 

The same venal court was paid by all classes to his family. 
The highest ladies of the court vied with each other in mean- 
nesses, to purchase the lucrative friendship of Mrs. Law and her 
daughter. They waited upon them with as much assiduity and 
adulation as if they had been princesses of the blood. The Re- 
gent one day expressed a desire that some duchess should accom- 
pany his daughter to Genoa. " My Lord," said some one present, 
" if you would have a choice from among the duchesses, you need 
but send to Mrs. Law's ^ you will find them all assembled there." 

The wealth of Law rapidly increased with the expansion of 
the bubble. In the course of a few months, he purchased four- 
teen titled estates, paying for them in paper; and the public 
hailed these sudden and vast acquisitions of landed property, as 
so many proofs of the soundness of his system. In one instance, 
he met with a shrewd bargainer, who had not the general faith in 
his paper money. The President de Novion insisted on being 
paid for an estate in hard coin. Law accordingly brought the 
amount, four hundred thousand livres, in specie, saying, with a 
sarcastic smile, that he preferred paying in money, as its weight 
rendered it a mere incumbrance. As it happened, the President 
could give no clear title to the land, and the money had to be re- 
funded. He paid it back in pa^er, which Law dared not refuse? 
lest he should depreciate it in the market! 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 173 

The course of illusory credit went on triumphantly for eighteen 
months. Law had nearly fulfilled one of his promises, for the 
greater part of the public debt had been paid ofi"; but how paid ? 
In bank shares, which had been trumped up several hundred per 
cent, above their value, and which were to vanish like smoke in 
the hands of the holders. 

One of the most striking attributes of Law, was the imper- 
turbable assurance and self-possession with which he replied to 
evei-y objection, and found a solution for every problem. He had 
the dexterity of a juggler in evading difficulties ; and what was 
peculiar, made figures themselves, which are the very elements of 
exact demonstration, the means to dazzle and bewilder. 

Toward the latter end of 1719, the Mississippi scheme had 
reached its highest point of glory. Half a million of strangers 
had crowded into Paris, in quest of fortune. The hotels and 
lodging-houses were overflowing; lodgings were procured with 
excessive difficulty ; granaries were turned into bedrooms ; pro- 
visions had risen enormously in price ; splendid houses were mul- 
tiplying on every side ; the streets were crowded with carriages ; 
above a thousand new equipages had been launched. 

On the eleventh of December, Law obtained another prohibi- 
tory decree, for the purpose of sweeping all the remaining specie 
in circulation into the bank. By this it was forbidden to make 
any payments in silver above ten livres, or in gold above three 
hundred. 

The repeated decrees of this nature, the object of which was 
to depreciate the value of gold, and increase the illusive credit of 
paper, began to awaken doubts of a system which required such 
bolstering. Capitalists gradually awoke from their bewilderment, 



174 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEEITT. 

Sound and able financiers consulted together, and agreed to make 
common cause against this continual expansion of a paper system. 
The shares of the bank and of the company began to decline m 
value. Wary men took the alarm, and began to realize, a word 
now first brought into use, to express the conversion of ideal pro- 
perty into something real. 

The Prince of Conti, one of the most prominent and grasping 
of the Mississippi lords, was the first to give a blow to the credit 
of the bank. There was a mixture of ingratitude in his conduct, 
that characterized the venal baseness of the times. He had re- 
ceived, from time to time, enormous sums from Law, as the price 
of his influence and patronage. His avarice had increased with 
every acquisition, until Law was compelled to refuse one of hia 
exactions. In revenge, the prince immediately sent such an 
amount of paper to the bank to be cashed, that it required four 
waggons to bring away the silver, and he had the meanness to loll 
out of the window of his hotel, and jest and exult, as it was trun- 
dled into his port cochere. 

This was the signal for other drains of like nature. The Eng- 
lish and Dutch merchants, who had purchased a great amount of 
bank paper at low prices, cashed them at the bank, and carried the 
money out of the country. Other strangers did the like, thus 
draining the kingdom of its specie, and leaving paper in its place. 

The Regent, perceiving these symptoms of decay in the sys- 
tem, sought to restore it to public confidence, by conferring marks 
of confidence upon its author. He accordingly resolved to make 
Law Comptroller General of the Finances of France. There was 
a material obstacle in the way. Law was a protestant, and the 
Regent, unscrupulous as he was himself, did not dare publicly to 



THE GKEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 175 

outrage the severe edicts which Lous XIV., in his bigot dayS; 
Clad fulminated against all heretics. Law soon let him know that 
there would be no difficulty on that head. He was ready at any 
moment to abjure his religion in the way of business. For decen- 
cy's sake, however, it was judged proper he should previously be 
convinced and converted. A ghostly instructor was soon found 
ready to accomplish his conversion in the shortest possible time. 
This was the Abbe Tencin, a profligate creature of the profligate 
Dubois, and like him working his way to ecclesiastical promotion 
and temporal wealth, by the basest means. 

Under the instructions of the Abbe Tencin, Law soon mastered 
the mysteries and dogmas of the Catholic doctrine ; and, after a 
brief course of ghostly training, declared himself thoroughly con- 
vinced and converted. To avoid the sneers and jests of the 
Parisian public, the ceremony of abjuration took place at Melun. 
Law made a pious present of one hundred thousand livres to the 
Church of St. Roque, and the Abbe Tencin was rewarded for his 
edifying labors, by sundry shares and bank-bills, which he 
shrewdly took care to convert into cash, having as little faith in 
the system, as in the piety of his new convert. A more grave 
and moral community might have been outraged by this scandal- 
ous farce ; but the Parisians laughed at it with their usual levity, 
and contented themselves with making it the subject of a number 
of songs and epigrams. 

Law being now orthodox in his faith, took out letters of natu- 
ralization, and having thus surmounted the intervening obstacles, 
was elevated by the Regent to the post of Comptroller General. 
So accustomed had the community become to all juggles and 
transmutations in this hero of finance, that no one seemed shocked 



3 76 A TIME Oy UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEEITT. 

or astonished at liis sudden elevation. On the contrary, being 
now considered perfectly established in place and power, he be- 
came more than ever the object of venal adoration. Men of rank 
and dignity thronged his antechamber, waiting patiently their turn 
^or an audience ; and titled dames demeaned themselves to take 
he front seats of the carriages of his wife and daughter, as if they 
had been riding with princesses of the blood royal. Law's head 
grew giddy with his elevation, and he began to aspire after aris- 
tocratical distinction. There was to be a court ball, at which 
several of the young noblemen were to dance in a ballet with the 
youthful king. Law requested that his son might be admitted 
into the ballet, and the Regent consented. The young scions of 
nobility, however, were indignant, and scouted the " intruding up- 
start." Their more worldly parents, fearful of displeasing the 
modern Midas, reprimanded them in vain. The striplings had not 
yet imbibed the passion for gain, and still held to their high blood. 
The son of the banker received slights and annoyances on all 
sides, and the public applauded them for their spirit. A fit of 
illness came oppoi'tunely to relieve the youth from an honor which 
would have cost him a world of vexations and afironts. 

In February, 1 720, shortly after Law's instalment in office, a 
decree came out, uniting the bank to the India Company, by 
which last name the whole establishment was now known. The 
decree stated, that as the bank was royal, the king was bound to 
make good the value of its bills ; that he committed to the com- 
pany the government of the bank for fifty years, and sold to it 
fifty millions of stock belonging to him, for nine hundred millions, 
a simple advance of eighteen hundred per cent. The decree far- 
ther declared, in the king's name, that he would never draw on 



THE GREAT MTSSISSlPPl BUBBLE. 177 

the bank, uutil the value of his drafts had first been lodged in it 
by his receivers general. 

The bank, it was said, had by this time issued notes to the 
amount of one thousand millions ; being more paper than all the 
banks of Europefwere able to circulate. To aid its credit, the 
receivers of the revenue were directed to take bank-notes of the 
Rub-receivers. All payments, also, of one hundred livres and up- 
ward, were ordered to be made in bank-notes. These compulso- 
ry measures for a short time gave a false credit to the hank, 
which proceeded to discount merchants' notes, to lend money on 
jewels, plate, and other valuables, as well as on mortgages. 

Still farther to force on the system, an edict next appeared, 
forbidding any individual, or any corporate body, civil or reli- 
gious, to hold in possession more than five hundred livres in current 
coin ; that is to say, about seven louis-d'ors ; the value of the 
louis-d'or in paper being, at the time, seventy-two livres. All 
the gold and silver they might have, above this pittance, was to 
be brought to the royal bank, and exchanged either for shares 
or bills. 

As confiscation was the penalty of disobedience to this decree, 
and informers were assured a share of the forfeitures, a bounty 
was in a manner held out to domestic spies and traitors ; and 
the most odious scrutiny was awakened into the pecuniary affairs 
of families and individuals. The very confidence between friends 
and relatives was impaired, and all the domestic ties and virtues 
of society were threatened, until a general sentiment of indigna- 
tion broke forth, that compelled the Regent to rescind the odious 
decree. I<ord Stairs, the British ambassador, speaking of the 
system of espionage encouraged by this edict, observed that it 
8* 



178 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEEITT. 

was impossible to doubt that Law was a thorough Catholic, since 
he had thus established the inquisition^ after having already 
proved transuhstantiation, by changing specie into paper. 

Equal abuses had taken place undor the colonizing project 
In his thousand expedients to amass capital, Law had sold par- 
cels of land in Mississippi, at the rate of three thousand livres 
for a league square. Many capitalists had purchased estates 
large enough to constitute almost a principality ; the only evil 
was. Law had sold a property which he could not deliver. The 
agents of police, who aided in recruiting the ranks of the colonists, 
had been guilty of scandalous impositions. Under pretence of 
taking up mendicants and vagabonds, they had scoured the streets 
at night, seizing upon honest mechanics, or their sons, and hurrying 
them to their crimping-houses, for the sole purpose of extort- 
ing money from them as a ransom. The populace was roused 
to indignation by these abuses. The officers of police were mob- 
bed in the exercise of their odious functions, and several of them 
were killed, which put an end to this flagrant abuse of power. 

In March, a most extraordinary decree of the council fixed 
the price of shares of the India Company at nine thousand livres 
each. All ecclesiastical communities and hospitals were now pro- 
hibited from investing money at interest, in any thing but India 
stock. With all these props and stays, the system continued to 
totter. How could it be otherwise, under a despotic government, 
that could alter the value of property at every moment ? The 
very compulsory measures that were adopted to establish the 
credit of the bank, hastened its fall : plainly showing there was 
a want of solid security. Law caused pamphlets to be published, 
setting forth, in eloquent language, the vast profits that must ac 



' THE GEEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. IY9' 

nrne to holders of the stock, and the impossibility of the king's ever 
doing it any harm. On the very back of these assertions, came 
forth an edict of the king, dated the 22d of May, wherein, under 
pretence of having reduced the value of his coin, it was declared 
necessary to reduce the value of his bank-notes one half, and of 
the India shares from nine thousand to five thousand livres ! 

This decree came like a clap of thunder upon shareholders. 
They found one half of the pretended value of the paper in their 
hands annihilated in an instant : and what certainty had they 
with respect to the other half ? The rich considered themselves 
ruined ; those in humbler circumstances looked forward to abject 
beggary. 

The parliament seized the occasion to stand forth as the pro- 
tector of the public, and refused to register the decree. It 
gained the credit of compelling the Regent to retrace his step, 
though it is more probable he yielded to the universal burst of 
public astonishment and reprobation. On the 27th of May, the 
edict was revoked, and bank-bills were restored to their previous 
value. But the fatal blow had been struck ; the delusion was at 
an end. Grovernment itself had lost all public confidence, equal- 
ly with the bank it had engendered, and which its own arbitrary 
acts had brought into discredit. " All Paris," says the Regent's 
mother, in her letters, " has been mourning at the cursed decree 
which Law has persuaded my son to make. I have received anony- 
mous letters, stating that I have nothing to fear on my own ac- 
count, but that my son shall be pursued with fire and sword." 

The Regent now endeavored to avert the odium of his ruin- 
ous schemes from himself. He affected to have suddenly lost 
confidence in Law, and on the 29th of May, discharged him frow 



1*80 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEEITT. 

his employ, as Comptroller General, and stationed a Swiss guard 
of sixteen men in his house. He even refused to see him, when, 
on the following day, he applied at the portal of the Palais Royal 
for admission : but having played off this farce before the public, 
he admitted him secretly the same night, by a private door, and 
continued as before to co-operate with him in his financial 
schemes. 

On the first of June, the Regent issued a decree, permitting 
persons to have as much money as they pleased in their posses- 
sion. Few, however, were in a state to benefit by this permis- 
sion. There was a run upon the bank, but a royal ordinance 
immediately suspended payment, until farther orders. To relieve 
the public mind, a city stock was created, of twenty-five millions, 
bearing an interest of two and a half per cent., for which bank- 
notes were taken in exchange. The bank-notes thus withdrawn 
from circulation, were publicly burnt before the Hotel de Ville. 
The public, however, had lost confidence in every thing and every 
body, and suspected fraud and collusion in those who pretended 
to burn the bills. 

A general confusion now took place in the financial world. 
Families who had lived in opulence, found themselves suddenly 
reduced to indigence. Schemers who had been revelling in the 
delusion of princely fortunes, found their estates vanishing into 
thin air. Those who had any property remaining, sought to se- 
cure it against reverses. Cautious persons found there was no 
safety for property in a country where the coin was continually 
shifting in value, and where a despotism was exercised over public 
securities, and even over the private purses of individuals. They 
began to send their effects into other countries ; when Ip ! on the 



THE GEE AT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 181 

20th of June, a royal edict commanded them to bring back their 
effects, under penalty of forfeiting twice their value ; and forbade 
them, under like penalty, from investiog their money in foreign 
stocks. This was soon followed by an another decree, forbidding 
any one to retain precious stones in his possession, or to sell them 
foreigners : all must be deposited in the bank, in exchange 
for depreciating paper ! 

Execrations were now poured out, on all sides, against Law, 
and menaces of vengeance. What a contrast, in a short time, to 
the venal incense once offered up to him ! " This person," writes 
the Regent's mother, " who was formerly worshipped as a god, 
is now not sure of his life. It is astonishing how greatly 
terrified he is. He is as a dead man ; he is pale as a sheet, and 
it is said he can never get over it. My son is not dismayed, 
though he is threatened on all sides, and is very much amused 
with Law's terrors." 

About the middle of July, the last grand attempt was made 
by Law and the Regent, to keep up the system, and provide for 
the immense emission of paper. A decree was fabricated, giving 
the India Company the entire monopoly of commerce, on condi- 
tion that it would, in the course of a year, reimburse six hundred 
millions of livres of its bills, at the rate of fifty millions per 
month. 

On the 17th, this decree was sent to parliament to be regis- 
tered. It at once raised a storm of opposition in that assembly ; 
and a vehement discussion took place. While that was going on^ 
a disastrous scene was passing out of doors. 

The calamitous effects of the system had reached the hum- 
lest concerns of human life. Provisions had risen to an enor- 



182 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEKITY. 

mous price ; paper money was refused at all the shops ; the people 
had not wherewithal to buy bread. It had been found absolutely 
indispensable to relax a little from the suspension of specie pay- 
ments, and to allow small sums to be scantily exchanged for paper. 
The doors of the bank and the neighboring street were immediate- 
ly thronged with a famishing multitude, seeking cash for bank- 
notes of ten livres. So great was the press and struggle, that 
several persons were stifled and crashed to death. The mob car- 
ried three of the bodies to the court-yard of the Palais Royal. 
Some cried for the Regent to come forth, and behold the effect 
of his system ; others demanded the death of Law, the impostor, 
who had brought this misery and ruin upon the nation. 

The moment was critical : the popular fury was rising to a 
tempest, when Le Blanc, the Secretary of State, stepped forth. 
He had previously sent for the military, and now only sought to 
gain time. Singling out six or seven stout fellows, who seemed 
to be the ringleaders of the mob; "My good fellows," said he, 
calmly, " carry away these bodies, and place them in some church, 
and then come back quickly to me for your pay." They imme- 
diately obeyed ; a kind of funeral procession was formed ; the 
arrival of troops dispersed those who lingered behind ; and Paris 
was probably saved from an insurrection. 

About ten o'clock in the morning, all being quiet. Law ven- 
tured to go in his carriage to the Palais Royal. He was salut- 
ed with cries and curses, as he passed along the streets ; and he 
reached the Palais Royal in a terrible fright. The Regent 
amused himself with his fears, but retained him with him, and 
sent off his carriage, which was assailed by the mob, pelted with 
Stones, and the glasses shivered. The news of this outrage was 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. ISiJ 

communicated to parliament in the midst of ar furious aiscussion 
of the decree for the commercial monopoly. The first president, 
who had been absent for a short time, re-entered, and communicat- 
ed the tidings in a whimsical couplet : 

" Messieurs, Messieurs ! bonne nouvelle ! 
Le carrosse de Law est reduite en carrelle . " 

" Gfentlemen, Gentlemen ! good news! 
The carriage of Law is shivered to atoms ! " 

The members sprang up with joy ; " And Law ! " exclaimed 
they, " has he been torn to pieces ? " The president was igno- 
rant of the result of the tumult ; whereupon the debate was cut 
short, the decree rejected, and the house adjourned; the members 
hurrying to learn the particulars. Such was the levity with which 
public affairs were treated, at that dissolute and disastrous period. 

On the following day, there was an ordinance from the king, 
prohibiting all popular assemblages ; and troops were stationed at 
various points, and in all public places. The regiment of guards 
was ordered to hold itself in readiness ; and the musketeers to 
be at their hotels, with their horses ready saddled. A number of 
small offices were opened, where people might cash small notes, 
though with great delay and difficulty. An edict was also issued, 
declaring that whoever should refuse to take bank-notes in the 
course of trade, should forfeit double the amount ! 

The continued and vehement opposition of parliament to the 
whole delusive system of finance, had been a constant source of 
annoyance to the Regent ; but this obstinate rejection of his last 
grand expedient of a commercial monopoly, was not to be tolerat- 
ed. He determined to punish that intractable body. The Abbe 



184 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPEEITT. 

Dubois and Law suggested a simple mode ; it was to suppress tlic 
parliament altogether, being, as tbey observed, so far from useful, 
that it was a constant impediment to the march of public affairs. 
The Regent was half inclined to listen to their advice ; but upon 
calmer consideration, and the advice of friends, he adopted a more 
moderate course. On the 20th of July, early in the morning, all 
the doors of the parliament-house were taken possession of by the 
troops. Others were sent to surround the house of the first presi- 
dent, and others to the houses of the various members ; who were 
all at first in great alarm, until an order from the king was put 
into their hands, to render themselves at Pontoise, in the course 
of two days, to which place the parliament was thus suddenly and 
arbitrarily transferred. 

This despotic act, says Yoltaire, would at any other time have 
caused an insurrection ; but one half of the Parisians were occu- 
pied by their ruin, and the other half by their fancied riches, which 
were soon to vanish. The president and members of parliament 
acquiesced in the mandate without a murmur ; they even went as 
if on a party of pleasure, and made every preparation to lead a 
joyous life in their exile. The musketeers, who held possession 
of the vacated parliament-house, a gay corps of fashionable young 
fellows, amused themselves with making songs and pasquinades, at 
the expense of the exiled legislators ; and at length, to pass away 
time, formed themselves into a mock parliament; elected their 
presidents, kings, ministers, and advocates ; took their seats in 
due form ; arraigned a cat at their bar, in place of the Sieur Law, 
and after giving it a " fair trial," condemned it to be hanged. In 
this manner, public affairs and public institutions were lightly 
turned to jest. 



THE GEEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 185 

As to the exiled parliament, it lived gaily and luxuriously at 
Pontoise, at the public expense ; for the Regent had furnished 
funds, as usual, with a lavish hand. The first president had the 
mansion of the Duke de Bouillon put at his disposal, all ready 
furnished, with a vast and delightful garden on the borders of a 
river. There he kept open house to all the members of parlia- 
ment. Several tables were spread every day, all furnished lux- 
uriously and splendidly ; the most exquisite wines and liquors', 
the choicest fruits and refreshments of all kinds, abounded. A 
number of small chariots for one and two horses were always at 
hand, for such ladies and old gentlemen as wished to take an air- 
ing after dinner, and card and billiard tables for such as chose 
to amuse themselves in that way until supper. The sister and 
the daughter of the first president did the honors of his house, 
and he himself presided there with an air of great ease, hospitali- 
ty, and magnificence. It became a party of pleasure to drive 
from Paris to Pontoise, which was six leagues distant, and par- 
take of the amusements and festivities of the place. Business vras 
openly slighted ; nothing was thought of but amusement. Tho 
Regent and his government were laughed at, and made the sub- 
jects of continual pleasantries ; while the enormous expenses in- 
curred by this idle and lavish course of life, more than doubled 
the liberal sums provided. This was the way in which the par- 
liament resented their exile. 

During all this time, the system was getting more and more 
involved. The stock exchange had some time previously been re- 
moved to the Place Vendome ; but the tumult and noise becom- 
ing intolerable to the residents of that polite quarter, and espe- 
cially to the chancellor, whose hotel was there, the Prince and 



186 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PKOSPERITY. 

Princess Carignan, both deep gamblers in Mississippi stock, of- 
fered the extensive garden of their Hotel de Soissons as a rally- 
ing-place for the worshippers of mammon. The offer was ac- 
cepted. A number of barracks were immediately erected in the 
garden, as offices for the stock-brokers, and an order was obtain- 
ed from the Regent, under pretext of police regulations, that no 
bargain should be valid, unless concluded in these barracks. 
The rent of them immediately mounted to a hundred livres a 
month for each, and the whole yielded these noble proprietors 
an ignoble revenue of half a million of livres. 

The mania for gain, however, was now at an end. A univer- 
sal panic succeeded. " Sauve qui pent ! " was the watchword. 
Every one was anxious to exchange falling paper for something 
of intrinsic and permanent value. Since money was not to be 
had, jewels, precious stones, plate, porcelain, trinkets of gold and 
silver, all commanded any price, in paper. Land was bought at 
fifty years' purchase, and he esteemed himself happy, who could 
get it even at this price. Monopolies now became the rage 
among the noble holders of paper. The Duke de la Force bought 
up nearly all the tallow, grease, and soap ; others the coffee and 
spices ; others hay and oats. Foreign exchanges were almost im- 
practicable. The debts of Dutch and English merchants were paid 
in this fictitious money, all the coin of the realm having disap- 
peared. All the relations of debtor and creditor were confounded. 
With one thousand crowns one might pay a debt of eighteen 
thousand livres. 

The Regent's mother, who once exulted in the affluence of 
bank paper, now wrote in a very different tone : " I have often 
wished," said she, in her letters, " that these bank-notes were in 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 187 

the depths of the infernal regions. They have given my son more 
trouble than relief. Nobody in France has a penny. * * * My 
son was once popular, but since the arrival of this cursed Law, 
he is hated more and more. Not a week passes, without my re- 
ceiving letters filled with frightful threats, and speaking of him 
as a tyrant. I have just received one, threatening him with poi- 
son. When I showed it to him, he did nothing but laugh." 

In the mean time. Law was dismayed by the increasing 
troubles, and terrified at the tempest he had raised. He was 
not a man of real courage ; and fearing for his personal safety, 
from popular tumult, or the despair of ruined individuals, he 
again took refuge in the palace of the Regent. The latter, as 
usual, amused himself with his terrors, and turned every new dis- 
aster into a jest ; but he, too, began to think of his own security. 

In pursuing the schemes of Law, he had no doubt calculated 
to carry through his term of government with ease and splendor ; 
and to enrich himself, his connections, and his favorites ; and had 
hoped that the catastrophe of the system would not take place un- 
til after the expiration of the regency. 

He now saw his mistake ; that it was impossible much longer 
to prevent an explosion ; and he determined at once to get Law 
out of the way, and then to charge him with the whole tissue of 
delusions of this paper alchemy. He accordingly took occasion 
of the recall of parliament in December, 1720, to suggest to Law 
the policy of his avoiding an encounter with that hostile and ex- 
asperated body. Law needed no urging to the measure. His 
cnly desire was to escape from Paris and its tempestuous popu- 
lace. Two days before the return of parliament, he took his sud- 
den and secret departure. He travelled in a chaise bearing th 



188 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PIIOSPEETTY, 

arms of the Eegent, and was escorted by a kind of safe-guard of 
servants, in the duke's livery. His first place of refuge was an 
estate of the Regent's, about six leagues from Paris, from whence 
he pushed forward to Bruxelles. 

As soon as Law was fairly out of the way, the Duke of Orleans 
summoned a council of the regency, and informed them that they 
were assembled to deliberate on the state of the finances, and the 
affairs of the India Company. Accordingly La Houssaye, Comp- 
troller-General, rendered a perfectly clear statement, by which it 
appeared that there were bank-bills in circulation to the amount 
of two milliards, seven hundred millions of livreS, without any 
evidence that this enormous sum had been emitted in virtue of 
any ordinance from the general assembly of the India Company, 
which alone had the right to authorize such emissions. 

The council was astonished at this disclosure, and looked to the 
Regent for explanation. Pushed to the extreme, the Regent 
avowed that Law had emitted bills to the amount of twelve 
hundred millions beyond what had been fixed by ordinances, and 
in contradiction to express prohibitions ; that the thing being done, 
he, the Regent, had legalized or rather covered the transaction, 
by decrees ordering such emissions, which decrees he had ante' 
dated. 

A stormy scene ensued between the Regent and the Duke de 
Bourbon, little to the credit of either, both having been deeply 
implicated in the cabalistic operations of the system. In fact, 
the several members of the council had been among the most venal 
" beneficiaries " of the scheme, and had interests at stake which 
they were anxious to secure. From all the circumstances of the 
case, I am inclined to think that others were more to blame than 



THE GEEAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 189 

Law, for the disastrous effects of his financial projects. His 
bank, had it been confined to its original limits, and left to the 
control of its own internal regulations, might have gone on pros- 
perously, and been of great benefit to the nation. It was an in- 
stitution fitted for a free country ; but unfortunately, it was sub- 
ject to the control of a despotic government, that could, at its 
pleasure, alter the value of the specie within its vaults, and com- 
pel the most extravagant expansions of its paper circulation. 
The vital principle of a bank is security in the regularity of its 
operations, and the immediate convertibility of its paper into 
coin ; and what confidence could be reposed in an institution, or 
its paper promises, when the sovereign could at any moment 
centuple those promises in the market, and seize upon all the 
money in the bank ? The compulsory measures used, likewise, 
to force bank-notes into currency, against the judgment of the 
public, was fatal to the system ; for credit must be free and un- 
controlled as the common air. The Regent was the evil spirit of 
the system, that forced Law on to an expansion of his paper cur- 
rency far beyond what he had ever dreamed of. He it was that 
in a manner compelled the unlucky projector to devise all kinds 
of collateral companies and monopolies, by which to raise funds 
to meet the constantly and enormously increasing emissions of 
shares and notes. Law was but like a poor conjuror in the hands 
of a potent spirit that he has evoked, and that obliges him to go 
on, desperately and ruinously, with his conjurations. He only 
thought at the outset to raise the wind, hut the Eegent compel- 
led him to raise the whirlwind. 

The investigation of the affairs of the company by the council, 
resulted in nothing beneficial to the public. The princes and no- 



190 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PEOSPEKITY. 

bles who bad enriched themselves by all kinds of juggles and ex- 
tortions, escaped unpunished, and retained the greater part of 
their spoils. Many of the " suddenly rich," who had risen from 
obscurity to a giddy height of imaginary prosperity, and had in- 
dulged in all kinds of vulgar and ridiculous excesses, awoke as 
(ut of a dream, in their original poverty, now made more galling 
and humiliating by their transient elevation. 

The weight of the evil, however, fell on more valuable classeg 
of society ; honest tradesmen and artisans, who had been seduced 
away from the slow accumulations of industry, to the specious 
chances of speculation. Thousands of meritorious families, also, 
once opulent, had been reduced to indigence, by a too great confi- 
dence in government. There was a general derangement in the fi« 
nances, that long exerted a baneful influence over the national pros- 
perity ; but the most disastrous effects of the system were upon 
the morals and manners of the nation. The faith of engage- 
ments, the sanctity of promises in affairs of business, were at an 
end. Every expedient to grasp present profit, or to evade present 
difficulty, was tolerated. While such deplorable laxity of princi- 
ple was generated in the busy classes, the chivalry of France had 
soiled their pennons ; and honor and glory, so long the idols of 
the Gallic nobility, had been tumbled to the earth, and trampled 
in the dirt of the stock-market. 

As to Law, the originator of the system, he appears eventu- 
ally to have profited but little by his schemes. " He was a 
quack," says Voltaire, " to whom the state was given to be cured, 
but who poisoned it with his drugs, and who poisoned himself." 
The effects which he left behind in France, were sold at a low 
rice, and the proceeds dissipated. His landed estates were con 



THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 



191 



fiscated. He carried away with him barely enough to maintain 
himself, his wife, and daughter, with decency. The chief relic 
of his immense fortune was a great diamond, which he was often 
obliged to pawn. He was in England in 1721, and was present- 
ed to George the First. He returned, shortly afterward, to the 
continent ; shifting about from place to place, and died in Venice, 
in 1 729. His wife and daughter, accustomed to live with the pro- 
digality of princesses, could not conform to their altered fortunes, 
but dissipated the scanty means left to them, and sank into ab- 
ject poverty. " I saw his wife," says Voltaire, " at Bruxelles, as 
much humiliated as she had been haughty and triumphant at 
Paris." An elder brother of Law remained in France, and was pro- 
tected by the Duchess of Bourbon. His descendants acquitted 
(themselves honorably, in various public employments ; and one oi 
them was the Marquis Lauriston, sometime Lieutenant General 
and Peer of France 



SKETCHES m PARIS IN 1825? 

FKOM THE TRAVELLING NOTE-BOOK OF 
GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT 

THE PARISIAN HOTEL. 

A GREAT hotel in Paris is a street set on end: the grand stair- 
case is the highway, and every floor or apartment a separate hal> 
itation. The one in which I am lodged may serve as a specimen. 
It is a large quadrangular pile, built round a spacious paved 
court. The ground floor is occupied by shops, magazines, and do- 
mestic offices. Then comes the entresol, with low ceilings, short 
windows, and dwarf chambers; then succeed a succession of 
floors, or stories, rising one above the other, to the number of 
Mahomet's heavens. Each floor is a mansion, complete within 
itself, with ante-chamber, saloons, dining and sleeping rooms, kitch ■ 
en and other conveniences. Some floors are divided into two 
or more suites of apartments. Each apartment has its main door 
of entrance, opening upon the staircase, or landing-places, and 
locked like a street door. Thus several families and numerous 
single persons live under the same roof, totally independent of 
each other, and may live so for years, without holding more inter- 



THE PAMSIAN HOTEL. 193 

course tLan is kept up iu other cities by residents in the same 
street. 

Like the great world, this little microcosm has its gradations 
of rank and style and importance. The Premier, or jfirst floor 
with its grand saloons, lofty ceilings, and splendid furniture, i3 
docidedly the aristocratical part of the establishment The se- 
cond floor is scarcely less aristocratical and magnificent ; the other 
floors go on lessening in splendor as they gain in altitude, and 
end with the attics, the region of petty tailors, clerks, and sewing 
girls. To make the filling up of the mansion complete, every odd 
nook and corner is fitted up as a joli petit appartement a garcon, 
(a pretty little bachelor's apartment,) that is to say, some little 
dark inconvenient nestling-place for a poor devil of a bachelor. 

The whole domain is shut up from the street by a great porte- 
cochere, or portal, calculated for the admission of carriages. This 
consists of two massy folding doors, that swing heavily open upon 
a spacious entrance, passing under the front of the edifice into the 
court-yard. On one side is a grand staircase leading to the 
upper apartments. Immediately without the portal, is the por- 
ter's lodge, a small room with one or two bedrooms adjacent, for 
the accommodation of the concierge, or j)orter, and his family. 
This is one of the most important functionaries of the hotel. He 
is, in fact, the Cerberus of the establishment, and no one can pass 
in or out without his knowledge and consent. The porte-cochere 
in general is fastened by a sliding bolt, from which a cord or wire 
passes into the porter's lodge. Whoever wishes to go out must 
speak to the porter, who draws the bolt. A visitor from without 
gives a single rap with the massive knocker ; the bolt is immedi- 
ately drawn, as if by an invisible hand; the door stands ajar, 
9 



194 SKETCHES IN PAEIS. 

the visitor pushes it open, and enters. A face presents itself at 
the glass door of the porter's little chamber : the stranger pro- 
nounces the name of the person he comes to seek. If the person 
or family is of importance, occupying the first or second floor, the 
porter sounds a bell once or twice, to give notice that a visitor is 
at hand. The stranger in the mean time ascends the great stair- 
case, the highway common to all, and arrives at the outer door, 
equivalent to a street door, of the suite of rooms inhabited by 
his friends. Beside this hangs a bell-cord, with which he rings 
for admittance. 

When the family or person inquired for is of less importance, 
or lives in some remote part of the mansion less easy to be ap- 
prised, no signal is given. The applicant pronounces the name 
at the porter's door, and is told, " Montez au troisieme, au qua- 
trieme; sonnejz a la jporte a droite, ou d gauche;'''' (" Ascend 
to the third or fourth story ; ring the bell on the right or left 
hand door,") as the case may be. 

The porter and his wife act as domestics to such of the in- 
mates of the mansion as do not keep servants; making their beds, 
arranging their rooms, lighting their fires, and doing other menial 
offices, for which they receive a monthly stipend. They are also 
in confidential intercourse with the servants of the other inmates, 
and, having an eye on all the incomers and outgoers, are thus 
enabled, by hook and by crook, to learn the secrets and the do- 
mestic history of every member of the little territory within the 
•porte-cochere. 

The porter's lodge is accordingly a great scene of gossip, 
where all the private affairs of this interior neighborhood are dis- 
-nissed. The court-yard, also, is an assembling place in the even- 
ings for the servants of the different families, and a sisterhood of 



MY FEENCH NEIGHBOK. 195 

Bewing girls from the entre-sols and the attics, to play at various 
games, and dance to the music of their own songs, and the echoes 
of their feet ; at which assemblages the porter's daughter takes 
the lead : a fresh, pretty, buxom girl, generally called " La Pe- 
tite^'' though almost as tall as a grenadier. These little evening 
githerings, so characteristic of this gay country, are countenanced 
by the various families of the mansion, who often look down 
from their windows and balconies, on moonlight evenings, and 
enjoy the simple revels of their domestics. I must observe, how- 
ever, that the hotel I am describing is rather a quiet, retired one, 
where most of the inmates are permanent residents from year to 
year, so that there is more of the spirit of neighborhood, than in 
the bustling, fashionable hotels in the gay parts of Paris, which 
are continually changing their inhabitants. 



MY FKENCH NEIGHBOE. 

I often amuse myself by watching from my window (which by 
the by is tolerably elevated) the movements of the teeming little 
world below me ; and as I am on sociable terms with the porter 
and his wife, I gather from them, as they light my fire, or serve 
my breakfast, anecdotes of all my fellow-lodgers. I have been 
somewhat curious in studying a little antique Frenchman, who oc- 
cupies one of the jolie charribres d garqon already mentioned. He 
is one of those superannuated veterans who flourished before the 
revolution, and have weathered all the storms of Paris, in conse- 
quence, very probably, of being fortunately too insignificact to at- 
ract attention. He has a small income, which he mana^/.'? with 
f ho skill of a French economist: appropriating so mud /"tr his 



196 SKETCHES m PAJRIS.. 

lodgingSj so much for his meals, so much for his visits to St 
Cloud and Versailles, and so much for his seat at the theatre. He 
has resided at the hotel for years, and always in the same cham- 
ber, which he furnishes at his own expense. The decorations of 
the room mark his various ages. There are some gallant pic- 
tures, which he hung up in his younger days, with a portrait of a 
lady of rank, whom he speaks tenderly of, dressed in the old 
French taste, and a pretty opera dancer, pirouetting in a hoop 
petticoat, who lately died at a good old age. In a corner of this 
picture is stuck a prescription for rheumatism, and below it stands 
an easy-chair. He has a small parrot at the window, to amuse 
him when within doors, and a pug-dog to accompany him in his 
daily peregrinations. While I am writing, he is crossing the 
court to go out. He is attired in his best coat, of sky-blue, and 
is doubtless bound for the Tuileries. His hair is dressed in. the 
old style, with powdered ear-locks and a pigtail. His little dog 
trips after him, sometimes on four legs, sometimes on three, and 
looking as if his leather small-clothes were too tight for him. 
Now the old gentleman stops to have a word with an old crony 
who lives in the entre-sol, and is just returning from his prome- 
nade. Now they take a pinch of snuff together ; now they pull 
out huge red cotton handkerchiefs, (those " flags of abomination," 
as they have well been called,) and blow their noses most sonor- 
ously. Now they turn to make remarks upon their two little 
dogs, who are exchanging the morning's salutation; now they 
part, and my old gentleman stops to have a passing word with 
the porter's wife : and now he sallies forth, and is fairly launched 
upon the town for the day. 

No man is so methodical as a complete idler, and none so 
scrupulous in measuring and portioning out his time as he whoso 



MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 19T 

time is worth nothing. The old gentleman in question has his 
exact hour for rising, and for shaving himself by a small mirror 
hung against his casement. He sallies forth at a certain hour 
every morning, to take his cup of coffee and his roll at a certain 
cafe, where he reads the papers. He has been a regular admir- 
er of the lady who presides at the bar, and always stops to have a 
little badinage with her, en passant. He has his regular walks 
on the Boulevards and in the Palais Royal, where he sets his 
watch by the petard fired off by the sun at mid-day. He has his 
daily resort in the Garden of the Tuileries, to meet with a knot 
of veteran idlers like himself, who talk on pretty much the same 
subjects whenever they meet. He has been present at all the 
sights and shows and rejoicings of Paris for the last fifty years ; 
has witnessed the great events of the revolution ; the guillotining 
of the king and queen ; the coronation of Bonaparte ; the capture 
of Paris, and the restoration of the Bourbons. All these he speaks 
of with the coolness of a theatrical critic ; and I question wheth- 
er he has not been gratified by each in its turn ; not from any in- 
herent love of tumult, but from that insatiable appetite for spec- 
tacle, which prevails among the inhabitants of this metropolis. I 
have been amused with a farce, in which one of these systematic 
old triflers is represented. He sings a song detailing his whole 
day's round of insignificant occupations, and goes to bed de- 
lighted with the idea that his next day will be an exact repetitioo 
of the same routine : 

" Je me couche le soir, 
Enchante de pouvoir 
Recommencer nion train 
^ Le lendemaia 

Matin." 



198 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 

In another part of the hotel, a handsome suite of rooms is occu- 
pied by an old English gentleman, of great probity, some under- 
standing, and very considerable crustiness, who has come to 
France to live economically. He has a very fair property, but 
his wife, being of that blessed kind compared in Scripture to the 
fruitful vine, has overwhelmed him with a family of buxom 
daughters, who hang clustering about him, ready to be gathered 
by any hand. He is seldom to be seen in public, without one 
hanging on each arm, and smiling on all the world, while his own 
mouth is drawn down at each corner like a mastiff's, with internal 
growling at every thing about him. He adheres rigidly to Eng- 
lish fashion in dress, and trudges about in long gaiters and broad- 
brimmed hat ; while his daughters almost overshadow him with 
feathers, flowers, and French bonnets. 

He contrives to keep up an atmosphere of English habits, 
opinions, and prejudices, and to carry a semblance of London into 
the very heart of Paris. His mornings are spent at Galignani's 
newsroom, where he forms one of a knot of inveterate quid-nuncs, 
who read the same articles over a dozen times in a dozen different 
papers. He generally dines in company with some of his own coun- 
trymen, and they have what is called a " comfortable sitting, " after 
dinner, in the English fashion, drinking wine, discussing the news 
of the London papers, and canvassing the French character, the 
French metropolis, and the French revolution, ending with a unan- 
imous admission of English courage, English morality, English^ 



THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 199 

cookery, English -wealtli, tlie magnitude of London, and the 
ingratitude of the French. 

His evenings are chiefly spent at a club of his countrymen, 
where the London papers are taken. Sometimes his daughters 
entice him to the theatres, but not often. He abuses French 
tragedy, as all fustian and bombast, Talma as a ranter, and Du- 
chesnois as a mere termagant. It is true his ear is not sufficient- 
ly familiar with the language to understand French verse, and he 
generally goes to sleep during the performance. The wit of the 
French comedy is flat and pointless to him. He would not give 
one of Munden's wry faces, or Liston's inexpressible looks, for 
the whole of it. 

He will not admit that Paris has any advantage over London. 
The Seine is a muddy rivulet in comparison with the Thames; 
the West End of London surpasses the finest parts of the French 
capital ; and on some one's observing that there was a very thick 
fog out of doors : " Pish ! " said he, crustily, " it's nothing to the 
fogs we have in London ! " 

He has infinite trouble in bringing his table into any thing 
like conformity to English rule. With his liquors, it is true, he 
is tolerably successful. He procures London porter, and a stock 
of port and sherry, at considerable expense; for he observes that 
he cannot stand those cursed thin French "wines : they dilute his 
blood so much as to give him the rheumatism. As to their white 
wines, he stigmatizes them as mere substitutes for cider ; and as 
to claret, why " it would be port if it could." He has continual 
quarrels with his French cook, whom he renders wretched by in- 
eisting on his conforming to Mrs. Griass ; for it is easier to con- 
vert a Frenchman from his religion than his cookery The poor 



200 SKETCHES IN PAEIS. 

fellow, by dint of repeated efforts, once brought himself tc 
serve up ros hif sufficiently raw to suit what he considered the 
cannibal taste of his master ; but then he could not refrain, at the 
last moment, adding some exquisite sauce, that put the old 
p-entleman in a fury. 

He detests wood-fires, and has procured a quantity of coal; 
out not having a grate, he is obliged to burn it on the hearth. 
Here he sits poking and stirring the fire with one end of a tongs, 
while the room is as murky as a smithy ; railing at French chim- 
neys, French masons, and French architects; giving a poke, at 
the end of every sentence, as though he were stirring up the very 
bowels of the delinquents he is anathematizing. He lives in a 
state militant with inanimate objects around him; gets into high 
dudgeon with doors and casements, because they will not come 
under English law, and has implacable feuds with sundry refrac- 
tory pieces of furniture. Among these is one in particular with 
which he is sure to have a high quarrel every time he goes to 
dress. It is a commode, one of those smooth, polished, plausible 
pieces of French furniture, that have the perversity of five hun- 
dred devils. Each drawer has a will of its own; will open or not, 
just as the whim takes it, and sets lock and key at defiance. 
Sometimes a drawer will refuse to yield to either persuasion or 
force, and will part with both handles rather than yield ; another 
will come out in the most coy and coquettish manner imaginable ; 
elbowing along, zigzag; one corner retreating as the other ad- 
vances, making a thousand difficulties and objections at every 
move; until the old gentleman, out of all patience, gives a sudd "^n 
jerk, and brings drawer and contents into the middle of the flooj , 
His hostility to this unlucky piece of furniture increases everj 



ENGLISH AND FKENCII CHAKACTEK. 201 

day, as if incensed that it does not grow better. He is like tte 
fretful invalid, who cursed his bed, that the longer he lay, the 
harder it grew. The only benefit he has derived from the quarrel 
is, that it has furnished him with a crusty joke, which he utters 
n all occasions. He swears that a French commode is the most 
incomm^odious thing in existence, and that although the nation 
cannot make a joint-stool that will stand steady, yet they are 
always talking of every thing's being jperfectionee. 

His servants understand his humor, and avail themselves of 
it. He was one day disturbed by a pertinacious rattling and 
shaking at one of the doors, and bawled out in an angry tone to 
know the cause of the disturbance. " Sir," said the footman, 
testily, " it's this confounded French lock ! " " Ah ! " said the old 
gentleman, pacified by this hit at the nation, " I thought there 
was something French at the bottom of it ! " 



ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHAEACTER. 

As I am a mere looker-on in Europe, and hold myself as much 
as possible aloof from its quarrels and prejudices, I feel something 
like one overlooking a game, who, without any great skill of his 
own, can occasionally perceive the blunders of much abler players. 
This neutrality of feeling enables me to enjoy the contrasts of 
character presented in this time of general peace ; when the various 
people of Europe, who have so long been sundered by wars, are 
brought together, and placed side by side in this great gathering 
place of nations. No greater contrast, however, is exhibited, than 
that of the French and English. The peace has deluged this gay 
capital with English visitors, of all ranks and conditions. They 
9* 



202 ' SKETCHES m PARIS. 

throng every place of curiosity and amusement ; fill the public 
gardens, the galleries, the cafes, saloons, theatres ; always herding 
together, never associating v?ith the French. The two natlona 
are like two threads of different colors, tangled together, but 
never blended. 

In fact, they present a continual antithesis, and seem to value 
themselves upon being unlike each other ; yet each have their 
peculiar merits, which should entitle them to each other's esteem. 
The French intellect is quick and active, It flashes its way into 
a subject with the rapidity of lightning; seizes upon remote con- 
clusions with a sudden bound, and its deductions are almost intui- 
tive. The English intellect is less rapid, but more persevering ; 
less sudden, but more sure in its deductions. The quickness and 
mobility of the French enable them to find enjoyment in the mul- 
tiplicity of sensations. They speak and act more from immediate 
impressions than from refiection and meditation. They are there- 
fore more social and communicative ; more fond of society, and of 
places of public resort and amusement. An Englishman is more 
reflective in his habits. He lives in the world of his own thoughts, 
and seems more self-existent and self-dependent. He loves the 
quiet of his own apartment ; even when abroad, he in a manner , 
makes a little solitude around him, by his silence and reserve : 
he moves about shy and solitary, and as it were, buttoned up, 
body and soul. 

The French are great optimists : they seize upon every good 
as it flies, and revel in the passing pleasure. The Englishman is 
too apt to neglect the present good, in preparing against the pos- 
sible evil. However adversities may lower, let the sun shine but 
for a moment, and forth sallies the mercurial Frenchman, in holi 



ENGLISH AND FKENCH CHAEACTEK. 203 

day dress and holiday spirits, gay as a butterfly, as though hia 
sunshine were perpetual ; but let the sun beam never so brightly 
so there be but a cloud in the horizon, the wary Englishman ven- 
tures forth distrustfully, with his umbrella in his hand. 

The Frenchman has a wonderful facility at turning small 
things to advantage. No one can be gay and luxurious on small- 
er means ; no one requires less expense to be happy. He prac- 
tises a kind of gilding in his style of living, and hammers out 
every guinea into gold leaf. The Englishman, on the contrary, 
is expensive in his habits, and expensive in his enjoyments. He 
, values every thing, whether useful or ornamental, by what it 
costs. He has no satisfaction in show, unless it be solid and com- 
plete. Every thing goes with him by the square foot. Whatever 
display he makes, the depth is sure to equal the surface. 

The Frenchman's habitation, like himself, is open, cheerful, 
bustling, and noisy. He lives in a part of a great hotel, with wide 
portal, paved court, a spacious dirty stone staircase, and a family 
on every floor. All is clatter and chatter. He is good-humored 
and talkative with his servants, sociable with his neighbors, and 
complaisant to all the world. Any body has access to himself 
and his apartments ; his very bedroom is open to visitors, what- 
ever may be its state of confusion ; and all this not from any pe- 
culiarly hospitable feeling, but from that communicative habit 
which predominates over his character. 

The Englishman, on the contrary, ensconces himself in a snug 
brick mansion, which he has all to himself ; locks the front door , 
puts broken bottles along his walls, and spring-guns and man-traps 
in his gardens ; shrouds himself with trees and window-curtains ; 
exults in his quiet and privacy, and seems disposed to keep out 



204 SKETCHES m PAKIS, 

noise, daylight, and company. His house, like himself, has a 
reserved, inhospitable exterior; yet whoever gains admittance, is 
apt to find a warm heart and warm fireside within. 

The French excel in wit ; the English in humor : the French 
have gayer fancy, the English richer imaginations. The former 
are full of sensibility ; easily moved, and prone to sudden and 
great excitement ; but their excitement is not durable : the Eng- 
lish are more phlegmatic ; not so readily afi'ected ; but capable of 
being aroused to great enthusiasm. The faults of these opposite 
temperaments are, that the vivacity of the French is apt to sparkle 
up and be frothy, the gravity of the English to settle down and. 
grow muddy. When the two characters can be fixed in a medium, 
the French kept from effervescence and the English from stagna- 
tion, both will be found excellent. 

This contrast of character may also be noticed in the great 
concerns of the two nations. The ardent Frenchman is all for 
military renown ; he fights for glory, that is to say, for success 
in arms. For, provided the national flag be victorious, he carea 
little about the expense, the injustice, or the inutility of the war. 
It is wonderful how the poorest Frenchman will revel on a triumph- 
ant bulletin ; a great victory is meat and drink to him ; and at 
the sight of a military sovereign, bringing home captured cannon 
and captured standards, he throws up his greasy cap in the air 
and is ready to jump out of his wooden shoes for joy. 

John Bull, on the contrary, is a reasoning, considerate person. 
If he does wrong, it is in the most rational way imaginable. He 
fights because the good of the world requires it. He is a moral 
person, and makes war upon his neighbor for the maintenance 
of peace and good order, and sound principles. He is a money- 



• THE TUILEEIES AND WINDSOE CASTLE. 205 

making personage, and fights for the prosperity of commerce and 
manufactures. Thus the two nations have been fighting, time 
out of mind, for glory and good. The French, in pursuit of glo- 
ry, have had their capital twice taken ; and John, in pursuit of 
good, has run himself over head and ears in debt 



THE TUILEEIES AND WINDSOE CASTLE. 

I have sometimes fancied I could discover national character- 
istics in national edifices. In the Chateau of the Tuileries, for 
instance, I perceive the same jumble of contrarieties that marks 
the French character ; the same whimsical mixture of the great 
and the little ; the splendid and the paltry, the sublime and the 
grotesque. On visiting this famous pile, the first thing that 
strikes both eye and ear, is military display. The courts glitter 
with steel-clad soldiery, and resound with tramp of horse, the roll 
of drum, and the bray of trumpet. Dismounted guardsmen pa- 
trol its arcades, with loaded carbines, jingling spurs, and clank- 
ing sabres. Grigantic grenadiers are posted about its staircases , 
young officers of the guards loll from the balconies, or lounge in 
groups upon, the terraces : and the gleam of bayonet from window 
to window, shows that sentinels are pacing up and down the cor- 
ridors and ante-chambers. The first floor is brilliant with the 
splendors of a court. French taste has tasked itself in adorning 
the sumptuous suites of apartments ; nor are the gilded chapel and 
splendid theatre forgotten, where Piety and Pleasure are next-door 
neighbors, and harmonize together with perfect French hienseance. 



206 SKETCHES Tn- PAKIS. 

Mingled up with all this regal and military magnificence, is a 
world of whimsical and make-shift detail. A great part of the 
huge edifice is cut up into little chambers and nestling-places for 
retainers of the court, dependants on retainers, and hangers-on of 
dependants. Some are squeezed into narrow entre-sols, those 
low, dark, intermediate slices of apartments between floors, the in- 
habitants of which seem shoved in edgeways, like books between 
narrow shelves ; others are perched, like swallows, imder the 
eaves ; the high roofs, too, which are as tall and steep as a 
French cocked hat, have rows of little dormer windows, tier 
above tier, just large enough to admit light and air for some dor- 
mitory, and to enable its occupant to peep out at the sky. Even 
to the very ridge of the roof, may be seen, here and there, one of 
these air-holes, with a stove-pipe beside it, to carry off the smoke 
from the handful of fuel with which its weasen-faced tenant sim- 
mers his demi-tasse of coffee. 

On approaching the palace from the Pont Royal, you take in 
at a glance all the various strata of inhabitants ; the garreteer 
in the roof ; the retainer in the entre-sol ; the courtiers at the 
casements of the royal apartments ; while on the ground-floor a 
steam of savory odors, and a score or two of cooks, in white caps, 
bobbing their heads about the windows, betray that scientific and 
all-important laboratory, the royal kitchen. 

Gro into the grand ante-chamber of the royal apartments on 
Sunday, and seathe mixture of Old and New France : the old emi- 
gres, returned with the Bourbons ; little withered, spindle- 
shanked old noblemen, clad in court dresses, that figured in these 
saloons before the revolution, and have been carefully treasured 
up during their exile ; with the solitaires and ailes de pigeon of 



THE TUILEKIES AND AVINDSOR CASTLE. 207 

former days : and the court swords strutting out behind, like 
pins stuck througli dry beetles. See them haunting the scenes 
of their former splendor, in hopes of a restitution of estates, like 
ghosts haunting the vicinity of buried treasure : while around 
them you see Young France, grown up in the fighting school of 
Napoleon ; equipped en militaire : tall, hardy, frank, vigorous, 
sunburnt, fierce-whiskered ; with tramping boots, towering crests, 
and glittering breastplates. 

It is incredible the number of ancient and hereditary feeders 
on royalty said to be housed in this establishment. Indeed all 
the royal palaces abound with noble families returned from exile, 
and who have nestling-places allotted them while they await the 
restoration of their estates, or the much-talked-of law, indemnity. 
Some of them have fine quarters, but poor living. Some families 
have but five or six hundred francs a year, and all their retinue 
consists of a servant woman. With all this, they maintain their 
old aristocratical hauteur, look down with vast contempt upon the 
opulent families which have risen since the revolution ; stigm-atize 
them all as parvenus, or upstarts, and refuse to visit them. 

In regarding the exterior of the Tuileries, with all its out- 
ward signs of internal populousness, I have often thought what a 
rare sight it would be to see it suddenly unroofed, and all its 
nooks and corners laid open to the day. It would be like turn- 
ing up the stump of an old tree, and dislodging the world of 
grubs, and ants, and beetles lodged beneath. Indeed there is a 
scandalous anecdote current, that in the time of one of the petty 
plots, when petards were exploded under the windows of the Tuil- 
eries, the police made a sudden investigation of the palace at 
four o'clock in the morning, when a scene of the most whimsical 



208 SKETCHES IN PAEIS. 

confusion ensued. Hosts of supernumerary inhabitants were 
found foisted into the huge edifice : every rat-hole had its occu- 
pant ; and places which had been considered as tenanted only by 
spiders, were found crowded with a surreptitious population. It 
is added, that many ludicrous accidents occurred ; great scam- 
ering and slamming of doors, and whisking away in night-gowns 
and slippers ; and several persons, who were found by accident 
in their neighbors' chambers, evinced indubitable astonishment at 
the circumstance. 

As I have fancied I could read the French character in the 
national palace of the Tuileries, so I have pictured to myself 
some of the traits of John Bull in his royal abode of Windsor 
Castle. The Tuileries, outwardly a peaceful palace, is in 
effect a swaggering military hold ; while the old castle, on the 
contrary, in spite of its bullying look, is completely under petti- 
coat government. Every corner and nook is built up into some 
snug, cosy nestling-place, some " procreant cradle," not tenanted 
by m'eagre expectants or whiskered warriors, but by sleek place- 
men ; knowing realizers of present pay and present pudding ; who 
seem placed there not to kill and destroy, but to breed and multi- 
ply. Nursery maids and children shine with rosy faces at the win- 
dows, and swarm about the courts and terraces. The very soldiery 
have a pacific look, and when off duty, may be seen loitering about 
the place with the nursery-maids ; not making love to them in 
the gay gallant style of the French soldiery, but with infinite bon- 
hommie aiding them to take care of the broods of children. 

Though the old castle is in decay, every thing about it 
thrives ; the very crevices of the walls are tenanted by swallows, 
rooks, and pigeons, all sure of quiet lodgment : the ivy strikes 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 209 

its roots deep in the fissures, and flourishes about the moulder- 
ing tower.* Thus it is with honest John : according to his own 
account, he is ever going to ruin, yet every thing that lives on 
him, thrives and waxes fat. He would fain be a soldier, and 
'swagger like his neighbors ; but his domestic, quiet-loving, uxo- 
rious nature continually gets the upper hand ; and though he 
ma}^ mount his helmet and gird on his sword, yet he is apt to 
sink into the plodding, painstaking father of a family ; with a 
troop of children at his heels, and his womenkind hanging on 
each arm. 



THE FIELD OF WATEELOO. 

I have spoken heretofore with some levity of the contrast 
that exists between the English and French character ; but it 
deserves mora serious consideration. They are the two great 
nations of modern times most diametrically opposed, and most 
worthy of each other's rivalry ; essentially distinct in their char- 
acters, excelling in opposite qualities, and reflecting lustre on 
each other by their very opposition. In nothing is this contrast 
more strikingly evinced than in their jnilitary conduct. For 
ages have they been contending, and for ages ha,ve they crowded 
each other's history with acts of splendid heroism. Take the 
Battle of Waterloo, for instance, the last and most memorable 
trial of their rival prowess. Nothing could surpass the brilliant 
daring on the one side, and the steadfast enduring on the other 

* The above sketch was written before the thorough repairs an'l mag-' 
nificent additions made of late years to Windsor Castle. 



210 SKETCHES IN PAEIS. 

The French cavalry broke like waves on the compact squares of 
English infantry. They were seen galloping round those serried 
walls of men, seeking in vain for an entrance ; tossing their arms 
in the air, in the heat of their enthusiasm, and braving the whole 
front of battle. The British troops, on the other hand, forbid- 
den to move or fire, stood firm and enduring. Their columns 
were ripped up by cannonry ; whole rows were swept down at a 
shot : the survivors closed their ranks, and stood firm. In this 
way many columns stood through the pelting of the iron tempest 
without firing a shot ; without any action to stir their blood, or 
excite their spirits. Death thinned their ranks, but could not 
shake their souls. 

A beautiful instance of the quick and generous impulses to 
which the French are prone, is given in the case of a French 
cavalier, in the hottest of the action, charging furiously upon a 
British officer, but perceiving in the moment of assault that his 
adversary had lost his sword-arm, dropping the point of his sa 
bre, and courteously riding on. Peace be with that generous 
warrior, whatever were his fate ! If he went down in the storm 
of battle, with the foundering fortunes of his chieftain, may the 
turf of Waterloo grow green above his grave ! — and happier far 
would be the fate of such a spirit, to sink amidst the tempest, 
unconscious of defeat, than to survive, and mourn over the 
blighted laurels of his country. 

In this way the two armies fought through a long and bloody 
day. The French with enthusiastic valor, the English with cool- 
inflexible courage, until Fate, as if to leave the question of supe- 
riority still undecided between two such adversaries, brought up 
the Prussians to decide the fortunes of the field. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 211 

It was several years afterward, that I visited the field of 
Waterloo. The ploughshare had been busy with its oblivious 
labors, and the frequent harvest had nearly obliterated the ves- 
tiges of war. Still the blackened ruins of Hoguemont stood, a 
monumental pile, to mark the violence of this vehement strug- 
gle. Its broken walls, pierced by bullets, and shattered by ex- 
plosions, showed the deadly strife that had taken place within ; 
when Gaul and Briton, hemmed in between narrow walls, hand 
to hand and foot to foot, fought from garden to court-yard, from 
court-yard to chamber, with intense and concentrated rivalship. 
Columns of smoke towered from this vortex of battle as from a 
volcano : "it was," said my guide, "like a little hell upon earth." 
Not far ofi^, two or three broad spots of rank, unwholesome green 
still marked the places where these rival warriors, after their 
fierce and fitful struggle, slept quietly together in the lap of their 
common mother earth. Over all the rest of the field, peace had 
resumed its sway. The thoughtless whistle of the peasant 
floated on the air, instead of the trumpet's clangor ; the team 
slowly labored up the hill-side, once shaken by the hoofs of rush- 
ing squadrons ; and wide fields of corn waved peacefully over the 
soldiers' grave, as summer seas dimple over the place where 
the tall ship lies buried. 



To the foregoing desultory notes on the French military 
character, let me append a few traits which I picked up verbally 
in one of the French provinces. They may have already ap 
peared in print, but I have never met with them. 



212 sicEiciiJiS m PAKis, 

At the breaking out of the revolution, when so many of the 
old families emigrated, a descendant of the great Tuvenne, by 
the name of JJe Latour D'Auvergne, refused to accompany hia 
relations, and entered into the republican army. He Served in 
all the campaigns of the revolution, distinguislied himself by hia 
valor, his accomplishments, and his generous spirit, and might 
have risen to fortune and to the highest honors. He refused, 
however, all rank in the army, above that of captain, and would 
receive no recompense for his achievements but a sword of honor. 
Napoleon, in testimony of his merits, gave him the title of Pre- 
mier Grenadier de France (First Grenadier of France), which 
was the only title he would ever bear. He was killed in Ger- 
many, at the battle of Neuburg. To honor his memory, his 
place was always retained in his regiment, as if he still occupied 
it ; and whenever the regiment was mustered, and the name of 
De Latour D'Auvergne was called out, the reply was : " Dead 
on the field of honor !" 



PARIS AT THE R E S T O E A T I O N. 

Paris presented a singular aspect just after the downfall of 
Napoleon, and the restoration of the Bourbons. It was filled 
with a restless, roaming population ; a dark, sallow race, with 
fierce moustaches, black cravats, and feverish, menacing looks ; 
men suddenly thrown out of employ by the return of peace ; 
officers cut short in their career, and cast loose with scanty 
means, many of them in utter indigence, upon the world ; the 



PAEIS AT THE RESTORATION. 213 

broken elements of armiea. They haunted the places of public 
resort, like restless, unhappy spirits, taking no pleasure ; hang- 
ing about, like lowering clouds that linger after a storm, and 
giving a singular air of gloom to this otherwise gay metropolis. 

The vaunted courtesy of the old school, the smooth urbanity 
that prevailed in former days of settled government and long- 
established aristocracy, had disappeared amidst the savage re- 
publicanism of the revolution and the military furor of the em- 
pire : recent reverses had stung the national vanity to the quick ; 
and English travellers, who crowded to Paris on the return of 
peace, expecting to meet with a gay, good-humored, complaisant 
populace, such as existed in the time of the " Sentimental Jour- 
ney," were surprised at finding them irritable and fractious, 
quick at fancying affronts, and not unapt to offer insults. They 
accordmgly inveighed with heat and bitterness at the rudeness 
they experienced in the French metropolis : yet what better had 
they to expect ? Had Charles 11. been reinstated in his king- 
dom by the valor of French troops ; had he been wheeled trium- 
phantly to London over the trampled bodies and trampled stand- 
ards of England's bravest sons ; had a Frt'uch general dictated 
to the English capital, and a French army been quartered in 
Hyde-Park ; had Paris poured forth its motley population, and 
the wealthy bourgeoisie of every French trading town swarmed to 
London ; crowding its squares ; filling its streets with their 
equipages ; thronging its fashionable hotels, and places of amuse- 
ments ; elbowing its impoverished nobility out of their palaces 
and opera boxes, and looking down on the humiliated inhabitants 
as a conquered people ; in such a reverse of the case, what de- 



214 SKETCHES IN PAEIS. 

gree of courtesy would the populace of London have been apt to 
exercise toward their visitors ?* 

On the contrary, I have always admired the degree of mag- 
nanimity exhibited by the French on the occupation of their 
capital by the English. When we consider the military ambi- 
tion of this nation, its love of glory, the splendid height to 
which its renown in arms had recently been carried, and with 
these, the ti-emendous reverses it had just undergone, its armies 
shattered, annihilated, its capital captured, garrisoned, and over- 
run, and that too by its ancient rival, the English, toward whom 
it had cherished for centuries a jealous and almost religious hos- 
tility ; could we have wondered, if the tiger spirit of this fiery 
people had broken out in bloody feuds and deadly quarrels ; and 
that they had sought to rid themselves in any way, of their in- 
vaders ? But it is cowardly nations only, those who dare not 
wield the sword, that revenge themselves with the lurking dag- 
ger. There were no assassinations in Paris. The French had 
fought valiantly, desperately, in the field ; but. when valor was 
no longer of avail, they submitted like gallant men to a fate 
they could not withstand. Some instances of insult from the 
populace were experienced by their English visitors ; some per- 
sonal rencontres, which led to duels, did take place ; but these 
smacked of open and honorable hostility. No instances of lurk- 
ing and perfidious revenge occurred, and the British soldier pa- 
trolled the streets of Paris safe from treacherous assault. 

If the English met with harshness and repulse in social inter- 

* The above remarks were suggested by a conversation with the Lite 
Mr. Canning, whom the author met in Pai'is, and who expressed himself in 
the most liberal way concerning the magnanimity of the French on the 
uecupation of their capital by strangers. 



PAEIS AT THE KESTOKATION. 215 

course, it was in some degree a proof that the people are more 
sincere than has been represented. The emigrants who had just 
returned, were not yet reinstated. Society was constituted of 
those who had flourished under the late regime ; the newly en- 
nobled, the recently enriched, who felt their prosperity and their 
consequeface endangered by this change of things. The broken- 
down officer, who saw his glory tarnished, his fortune ruined, his 
occupation gone, could not be expected to look with complacency 
apon the authors of his downfall. The English visitor, flushed 
with health, and wealth, and victory, could little enter into the 
feelings of the blighted warrior, scarred with a hundred battles, 
an exile from the camp, broken in constitution by the wars, im- 
poverished by the peace, and cast back, a needy stranger in the 
splendid but captured metropolis of his country. 

"Oh! who can tell what heroes feel 
When all but life and honor's lost ! " 

And here let me notice the conduct of the French soldiery 
on the dismemberment of the Army of the Loire, when two hun- 
dred thousand men were suddenly thrown out of employ ; men 
who had been brought up to the camp, and scarce knew any other 
home. Few in civil, peaceful life, are aware of the severe trial 
to the feelings that takes place on the dissolution of a regiment. 
There is a fraternity in arms. The community of dangers, hard- 
ships, enjoyments ; the participation in battles and victories , 
the companionship in adventures, at a time of life when men's 
feelings are most fresh, susceptible, and ardent, all these bind 
the members of a regiment strongly together. To them the re- 
giment is friends, family, home. They identify themselves with 



216 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 

lis fortunes, its glories, its disgraces. Imagine this romantic tie 
suddenly dissolved ; the regiment broken up ; the occupation of 
its members gone ; their military pride mortified ; the career of 
glory closed behind them; that of obscurity, dependence, want, 
neglect, perhaps beggary, before them. Such was the case with 
the soldiers of the Army of the Loire. They were sent off in 
squads, with officers, to the principal towns where they were to 
be disarmed and discharged. In this way they passed through 
the country with arms in their hands, often exposed to slights 
and scoffs, to hunger and various hardships and privations ; but 
they conducted themselves magnanimously, without any of those 
outbreaks of violence and wrong that so often attend the dis- 
memberment of armies. 



The few years that have elapsed since the time above alluded 
to, have already had their effect. The proud and angry spirits 
which then roamed about Paris unemployed, have cooled down, 
and found occupation. The national character begins to recover 
its old channels, though worn deeper by recent torrents. The 
natural urbanity of the French begins to find its way, like oil, to 
the surface, though there still remains a degree of roughness and 
bluntness of manner, partly real, and partly affected, by such as 
imagine it to indicate force and frankness. The events of the last 
thirty years have rendered the French a more reflecting people. 
They have acquired greater independence of mind and strength 
of judgment, together with a portion of that prudence which re- 
sults from experiencing the dangerous consequences of excesses. 
However that period may have been stained by crimes, and fiUe 



PAKIS AT THE RESTOKATION. 



217 



with extravagances, the French have certainly come out of it a 
greater nation than before. One of their own philosophers ob- 
serves, that in one or two generations the nation will probably com- 
bine the ease and elegance of the old character with force and 
solidity. They were light, he says, before the revolution; then 
wild and savage ; they have become more thoughtful and reflective. 
It is only old Frenchmen, now-a-days, that are gay and trivial 
the young are very serious personages. 



P. S. In the course of a morning's walk, about the time the 
above remarks were written, I observed the Duke of Wellington, 
who was on a brief visit to Paris. He was alone, simply attired 
in a blue frock ; with an umbrella under his arm, and his hat 
drawn over his eyes, and sauntering across the Place Vendome, 
close by the column of Napoleon. He gave a glance up at the 
column as he passed, and continued his loitering way up the Rue 
de la Paix ; stopping occasionally to gaze in at the shop-windows ; 
elbowed now and then by other gazers, who little suspected that 
the quiet, lounging individual they were jostling so unceremo- 
niously, was the conqueror who had twice entered their capital 
victoriously ; had controlled the destinies of the nation, and 
eclipsed the glory of the military idol, at the base of whose column 
he was thus negligently sauntering. 

Some years afterwards I was at an evening's entertainment 
given by the Duke at Apsley House, to William IV. The Duke 
had manifested his admiration of his great adversary, by having 
portraits of him in different parts of the house. At the bottom 
of the grand staircase, stood the colossal statue of the Emperor. 
10 



218 SKETCHES IN PAKIS. 

by Canova. It was of marble, in the anti(3[ue style, with one aiin 
partly extended, holding a figure of victory. Over this arm the 
ladies, in tripping up stairs to the ball, had thrown their shawls 
It was a singular office for the statue of Napoleon to perform it 
the mansion of the Duke of Wellington ! 

" Imperial Csesar dead, and turned to clay," etc, eta 



A CONTENTED MAK 

In the garden of the Tuileries there is a sunny corner under the 
wall of a terrace which fronts the south. Along the wall is a 
range of benches commanding a view of the walks and avenueri of 
the garden. This genial nook is a place of great resort in the 
latter part of autumn, and in fine days in winter, as it seems to 
retain the flavor of departed summer. On a calm, bright morning 
it is quite alive with nursery-maids and their playful little 
charges. Hither also resort a number of ancient ladies and gen- 
tlemen, who, with laudable thrift in small pleasures and small ex- 
penses, for which the French are to be noted, come here to enjoy 
sunshine and save firewood. Here may often be seen some cava- 
lier of the old school, when the sunbeams have warmed his blood 
into something like a glow, fluttering about like a frostbitten 
moth thawed before the fire, putting forth a feeble show of gal- 
lantry among the antiquated dames, and now and thftn eyeing the 
buxom nursery-maids with what might almost be mistaken for an 
air of libertinism. 

Among the habitual frequenters of this place, I had often re- 



220 A CONTENTED MAN. 

marked an old gentleman, whose dress was decidedly anti-revolu' 
tional. He wore the three-cornered cocked hat of the ancien re- 
gime ; his hair was frizzed over each ear into ailes de pigeon, ja 
style strongly savoring of Bourbonism ; and a queue stuck out he- 
hind, the loyalty of which was not to be disputed. His dress, 
though ancient, had an air of decayed gentility, and I observed that 
he took his snuff out of an elegant though old-fashioned gold box. 
He appeared to be the most popular man on the walk. He had 
a compliment for every old lady, he kissed every child, and he pat- 
ted every little dog on the head ; for children and little dogs are 
very important members of society in France. I must observe, 
however, that he seldom kissed a child without, at the same time, 
pinching the nursery-maid's cheek; a Frenchman of the old school 
never forgets his devoirs to the sex. 

I had taken a liking to this old gentleman. There was an ha- 
bitual expression of benevolence in his face, which I have very 
frequently remarked in these relics of the politer days of France. 
The constant interchange of those thousand little courtesies which 
imperceptibly sweeten life, have a happy effect upon the features, 
and spread a mellow evening charm over the wrinkles of old age. 

Where there is a favorable predisposition, one soon forms a 
kind of tacit intimacy by often meeting on the same walks. Once 
or twice I accommodated him with a bench, after which we touched 
hats on passing each other ; at length we got so far as to take a 
pinch of snuff together out of his box, which is equivalent to eat- 
ing salt together in the East ; from that time our acquaintance was 
established. 

I now became his frequent companion in his morning prome 
nades, and derived much amusement from his good-humored re- 



A CONTENTED MAN. 221 

marks on men and manners. One morning, as we were strolling 
through an alley of the Tuileries, with the autumnal breeze whirl- 
ing the yellow leaves about our path, my companion fell into a 
peculiarly communicative vein, and gave me several particulars 
of his history. He had once been wealthy, and possessed of a 
6ue estate in the country, and a noble hotel in Paris ; but the 
revolution, which effected so many disastrous changes, stripped 
him of every thing. He was secretly denounced by his own stew- 
ard during a sanguinary period of the revolution, and a number 
of the bloodhounds of the Convention were sent to arrest him. 
He received private intelligence of their approach in time to effect 
his escape. He landed in England without money or friends, but 
considered himself singularly fortunate in having his head upon 
his shoulders ; several of his neighbors having been guillotined 
as a punishment for being rich. 

When he reached London he had but a louis in his pocket, 
and no prospect of getting another. He ate a solitary dinner on 
beefsteak, and was almost poisoned by port wine, which from its 
color he had mistaken for claret. The dingy look of the chop-house, 
and of the little mahogany-colored box in which he ate his dinner, 
contrasted sadly with the gay saloons of Paris. Every thing 
looked gloomy and disheartening. Poverty stared him in tho 
face ; he turned over the few shillings he had of change ; did 
not know what was to become of him ; and — went to the theatre ! 

He took his seat in the pit, listened attentively to a tragedy 
of which he did not understand a word, and which seemed made 
up of fighting, and stabbing, and scene-shifting, and began to feel 
his spirits sinking within him ; when, casting his eyes into tho 
orchestra, what was his surprise to recognize an old friend and 



222 A CONTENTED MAN. 

neighbor in the very act of extorting music from a huge violon 
cello. 

As soon as the evening's performance was over he tapped hia 
friend on the shoulder ; they kissed each other on each cheek, 
and the musician took him home, and shared his lodgings with 
him. He had learned music as an accomplishment; by his friend's 
advice he now turned to it as a mean of support. He procured a 
violin, ojffered himself for the orchestra, was received, and again 
considered himself one of the most fortunate men upon earth. 

Here therefore he lived for many years during the ascendency 
of the terrible Napoleon. He found several emigrants living like 
himself, by the exercise of their talents. They associated together, 
talked of France and of old times, and endeavored to keep up a 
semblance of Parisian life in the centre of London. 

They dined at a miserable cheap French restaurateur in the 
neighborhood of Leicester-sc[uare, where they were served with a 
caricature of French cookery. They took their promenade in St. 
James's Park, and endeavored to fancy it the Tuileries ; in short, 
they made shift to accommodate themselves to every thing but an 
English Sunday. Indeed the old gentleman seemed to have 
nothing to say against the English, whom he affirmed to be braves 
gens ; and he mingled so much among them, that at the end of 
twenty years he could speak their language almost well enough to 
be understood. 

The downfall of Napoleon was another epoch in his life. He 
had considered himself a fortunate man to make his escape penni- 
less out of France, and he considered himself fortunate to be able 
to return penniless into it. It is true that he found his Parisian 
hotel had passed through several hands during the vicissi- 



A CONTENTED MAN. 223 

tudes of the times, so as to be beyond the reach of recovery ; but 
then he had been noticed benignantly by government, and had a 
pension of several hundred francs, upon which, with careful man- 
agement, he lived independently, and, as far as I could judge, 
happily. 

As his once splendid hotel was now occupied as a Jiotel garni, 
he hired a small chamber in the attic ; it was but, as he said, 
changing his bedroom up two pair of stairs — ^he was still in his 
own house. His room was decorated with pictures of several 
beauties of former times, with whom he professed to have been on 
favorable terms : among them was a favorite opera-dancer, who 
had been the admiration of Paris at the breaking out of the re- 
volution. She had been a protegee of my friend, and one of the 
few of his youthful favorites who had survived the lapse of time 
and its various vicissitudes. They had renewed their acquaint. 
anee, and she now and then visited him; but the beautiful 
Psyche, once the fashion of the day and the idol of the -parterre, 
was now a shrivelled, little old woman, warped in the back, and 
with a hooked nose. 

The old gentleman was a devout attendant upon levees : ha 
was most zealous in his loyalty, and could not speak of the royal 
family without a burst of enthusiasm, for he still felt towards 
them as his companions in exile. As to his poverty he made 
light of it, and indeed had a good-humored way of consoling him- 
self for every cross and privation. If he had lost his chateau in 
the country, he had half a dozen royal palaces, as it were, at his 
command. He had Versailles and St. Cloud for his country re- 
sorts, and the shady alleys of the Tuileries and the Luxembourg 
or his town recreation. Thus all his promenades and relaxationa 



224 A CONTENTED MAN. 

were magnificent, jet cost nothing. When I walk through these 
fine gardens, said he, I have only to fancy myself the owner of 
them, and they are mine. All these gay crowds are my visitors, 
and I defy the grand seignior himself to display a greater variety 
of beauty. Nay, what is better, I have not the trouble of enter- 
taining them. My estate is a perfect Sans Souci, where every 
one does as he pleases, and no one troubles the owner. All Paris 
is my theatre, and presents me with a continual spectacle. I have 
a table spread for me in every street, and thousands of waiters 
ready to fly at my bidding. When my servants have waited upon 
me I pay them, discharge them, and there's an end : I have no 
fears of their wronging or pilfering me when my back is turned. 
Upon the whole, said the old gentleman, with a smile of infinite 
good humor, when I think upon the various risks I have run, and 
the manner in which I have escaped them ; when I recollect all 
that I have suffered, and consider all that I at present enjoy, I 
cannot but look upon myself as a man of singular good fortune. 

Such was the brief history of this practical philosopher, and it 
is a picture of many a Frenchman ruined by the revolution. The 
French appear to have a greater facility than most men in accom- 
modating themselves to the reverses of life, and of extracting 
honey out of the bitter things of this world. The first shock of 
calamity is apt to overwhelm them, but when it is once past, their 
natural buoyancy of feeling soon brings them to the surface. 
This may be called the result of levity of character, but it answers 
the end of reconciling us to misfortune, and if it be not true phi- 
losophy, it is something almost as efficacious. Ever since I have 
heard the story of my little Frenchman, I have treasured it up in 
my heart : and I thank my stars I have at length found, what I 



A CONTENTED MAN. 225 

had long considered as not to be found on earth — a contented 



man. 



P. S. There is no calculatkig on human happiness. Since 
writing the foregoing, the law of indemnity has been passed, and 
my friend restored to a great part of his fortune. I was absent 
from Paris at the time, but on my return hastened to congratulate 
him. I found him magnificently lodged on the first floor of his 
hotel. I was ushered, by a servant in livery, through splendid 
saloons, to a cabinet richly furnished, where I found my little 
Frenchman reclining on a couch. He received me with his usual 
cordiality ; but I saw the gayety and benevolence of his counte- 
nance had fled ; he had an eye full of care and anxiety. 

I congratulated him on his good fortune. " Good fortune ? " 
echoed he ; " bah ! I have been plundered of a princely fortune, 
and they give me a pittance as an indemnity." 

Alas ! I found my late poor and contented friend one of the 
richest and most miserable men in Paris. Instead of rejoicing in 
the ample competency restored to him, he is daily repining at the 
superfluity withheld. He no longer wanders in happy idleness 
about Paris, but is a repining attendant in the ante-chambers of 
ministers. His loyality has evaporated with his gayety; he 
screws his mouth when the Bourbons are mentioned, and even 
shrugs his shoulders when he hears the praises of the king. In 
a word, he is one of the many philosophers undone by the law of 
indemnity, and his case is desperate, for I doubt whether even 
another reverse of fortune, which should restore him to poverty, 
could make him again a happy man. 

10* 



BROEK: 

THE DUTCH PARADISE. 

It has long been a matter of discussion and controversy among 
the pious and the learned, as to the situation of the terrestrial 
paradise whence our first parents were exiled. This question 
has been put to rest by certain of the faithful in Holland, who 
have decided in favor of the vilage of Broek, about six miles 
from Amsterdam. It may not, they observe, correspond in all 
respects to the description of the garden of Eden, handed down 
from days of yore, but it comes nearer to their ideas of a perfect 
paradise than any other place on earth. 

This eulogium induced me to make some inquiries as to this 
favored spot, in the course of a sojourn at the city of Amsterdam, 
and the information I procured fully justified the enthusiastic 
praises I had heard. The village of Broek is situated in Water- 
land, in the midst of the greenest and richest pastures of Holland, 
I may say, of Europe. These pastures are the source of its 
wealth, for it is famous for its dairies, and for those oval cheeses 
which regale and perfume the whole civilized world. The popula- 
tion consists of about six hundred persons, comprising several 



BKOEK : OK THE DUTCH PARADISE. 227 

families which have inhabited the place since time immemorial, 
and have waxed 1-ich on the products of their meadows. They 
keep all their wealth among themselves ; intermarrying, and keep- 
ing all strangers at a wary distance. They are a " hard money " 
people, and remarkable for turning the penny the right way. It 
is said to have been an old rule, established by one of the primi- 
tive financiers and legislators of Broek, that no one should leave 
the village with more than six guilders in his pocket, or return 
with less than ten ; a shrewd regulation, well worthy the attention 
of modern political economists, who are so anxious to fix the bal- 
ance of trade. 

What, however, renders Broek so perfect an elysium, in the 
eyes of all true Hollanders, is the matchless height to which the 
spirit of cleanliness is carried there. It amounts almost to a re- 
ligion among the inhabitants, who- pass the greater part of their 
time rubbing and scrubbing, and painting and varnishing : each 
housewife vies with her neighbor in her devotion to the scrubbing 
brush, as zealous Catholics do in their devotion to the cross ; and 
it is said, a notable housewife of the place in days of yore, is held 
in pious remembrance, and almost canonized as a saint, for hav- 
ing died of pure exhaustion and chagrin, in an ineffectual attempt 
to scour a black man white. 

These particulars awakened my ardent curiosity to see a place 
which I pictured to myself the very fountain-head of certain hered- 
itary habits and customs prevalent among the descendants of the 
original Dutch settlers of my native state. I accordingly lost no 
time in performing a pilgrimage to Broek. 

Before I reached the place, I beheld symptoms of the tranquil 
character of its inhabitants. A little clump-built boat was in full 



228 beoek: oe the dutch paradise. 

sail aloBg the lazy bosom of a canal, but its sail consisted of the 
blades of two paddles stood on end, while the navigator sat steer- 
ing with a third paddle in the stern, crouched down like a toad^ 
with a slouched hat drawn over his eyes. I presumed him to be 
some nautical lover, on the way to his mistress. After proceeding 
a little farther, I came in sight of the harbor or port of destina- 
tion of this drowsy navigator. This was the Broeken-Meer, au 
artificial basin, or sheet of olive-green water, tranquil as a mill- 
pond. On this the village of Broek is situated, and the borders 
are laboriously decorated with flower-beds, box-trees clipped into 
all kinds of ingenious shapes and fancies, and little " lust " houses 
or pavilions. 

I alighted outside of the village, for no horse nor vehicle is 
permitted to enter its precincts, lest it should cause defilement of 
the well-scoured pavements. Shaking the dust ofi" my feet, there- 
fore, I prepared to enter, with due reverence and circumspection, 
this sanctum sanctorum of Dutch cleanliness. I entered by a 
narrow street, paved with yellow bricks, laid edgewise, and so 
clean that one might eat from them. Indeed, they were actually 
worn deep, not by the tread of feet, but by the friction of the 
scrubbing-brush. 

The houses were built of wood, and all appeared to have been 
freshly painted, of green, yellow, and other bright colors. They 
were separated from each other by gardens and orchards, and stood 
at some little distance from the street, with wide areas or court- 
yards, paved in mosaic, with variegated stones, polished by fre- 
quent rubbing. The areas were divided from the street by curi ■ 
ously-wrought railings, or balustrades, of iron, surmounted with 
brass and copper balls, scoured into dazzling eflFulgence. The 



BEOEK : OE THE DUTCH PAEADISE. 229 

very trunks of the trees in front of the houses were by the same 
process made to look as if they had been varnished. The por- 
ches, doors, and window-frames of the houses were of exotic woods, 
curiously carved, and polished like costly furniture. The front 
doors are never opened, excepting on christenings, marriages, or 
funerals : on all ordinary occasions, visitors enter by the back 
door. In former times, persons when admitted had to put on 
slippers, but this oriental ceremony is no longer insisted upon. 

A poor devil Frenchman, who attended upon me as cicerone, 
boasted with some degree of exultation, of a triumph of his coun- 
trymen over the stern regulations of the place. During the time 
that Holland was overrun by the armies of the French republic, 
a French general, surrounded by his whole etat major, who had 
come from Amsterdam to view the wonders of Broek, applied for 
admission at one of these taboo'd portals. The reply was, that 
the owner never received any one who did not come introduced by 
some friend. " Very well," said the general; " take my compli- 
ments to your master, and tell him I will return here to-morrow 
with a company of soldiers, pour parler raison avec mon ami 
HollandaisJ''' Terrified at the idea of having a company of sol- 
diers billeted upon him, the owner threw open his house, enter- 
tained the general and his retinue with unwonted hospitality; 
though it is said it cost the family a month's scrubbing and scour- 
ing, to restore all things to exact order, after this military invasion. 
My vagabond informant seemed to consider this one of the great- 
est victories of the republic. 

I walked about the place in mute wonder and admiration. A 
dead stillness prevailed around, like that in the deserted streets 
of Pompeii. No sign of life was to be seen, excepting now and 



230 BEOEK : OK THE DrXCH PAKADISE. 

tlien a hand, and a long pipe, and an occasional puff of smoke, out 
of the window of some " lust-haus " overhanging a miniature 
canal ; and on approaching a little nearer, the periphery in pro- 
file of some robustious burgher. 

Among the grand houses pointed out to me, were those of 
Claes Bakker. and Cornelius Bakker, richly carved and gilded, 
with flower-gardens and clipped shrubberies; and that of tho 
Great Ditmus, who, my poor devil cicerone imformed me, in a 
whisper, was worth two millions ; all these were mansions shut 
up from the world, and only kept to be cleaned. After having 
been conducted from one wonder to another of the village, I was 
ushered by my guide into the grounds and gardens of Mynheer 
Broekker, another mighty cheese-manufacturer, worth eighty 
thousand guilders a year. I had repeatedly been struck with the 
similarity of all that I had seen in this amphibious little village, 
to the buildings and landscapes on Chinese platters and tea-pots ; 
but here I found the similarity complete; for I was told that 
"these gardens were modelled upon Van Bramm's description of 
those of Yuen min Yuen, in China. Here were serpentine walks, 
with trellised borders; winding canals, with fanciful Chinese 
bridges ; flower beds resembling huge baskets, with the flower of 
"love lies bleeding" falling over to the ground. But mostly had 
the fancy of Mynheer Broekker been displayed about a stagnant 
little lake, on which a corpulent like pinnace lay at anchor. On 
the border was a cottage, within which were a wooden man and 
woman seated at table, and a wooden dog beneath, all the size of 
life : on pressing a spring, the woman commenced spinning, and 
the dog barked furiously. On the lake were wooden swans, 
painted to the life: some floating, others on the nest among the 



bkoek: ok the dutch pakadise. 231 

rushes ; while a wooden sportsman, crouched among the bushes, 
was preparing his gun to take deadly aim. In another part of 
the garden was a dominie in his clerical robes, with wig, pipe, 
and cocked hat; and mandarins with nodding heads, amid red 
lions, green tigers, and blue hares. Last of all, the heathen dei- 
les, in wood and plaster, male and female, naked and barefaced 
as usual, and seeming to stare with wonder at finding themselves 
in such strange company. 

My shabby French guide, while he pointed out all these me- 
chanical marvels of the garden, was anxious to let me see that he 
had too polite a taste to be pleased by them. At every new nick- 
nack he would screw down his mouth, shrug up his shoulders, 
take a pinch of snuff, and exclaim : " 3£a foi, Monsieur, ces Sol- 
landais sont forts pour ces betises la! " 

To attempt to gain admission to any of these stately abodes 
was out of the question, having no company of soldiers to enforce 
a solicitation. I was fortunate enough, however, through the aid 
of my guide, to make my way into the kitchen of the illustrious 
Ditmus, and I question whether the parlor would have proved 
more worthy of observation. The cook, a little wiry, hook-nosed 
woman, worn thin by incessant action and friction, was bustling 
about among her kettles and sauce-pans, with the scullion at her 
heels, both clattering in wooden shoes, which were as clean and 
white as the milk-pails ; rows of vessels, of brass and copper, regi 
ments of pewter dishes, and portly porringers, gave resplendent 
evidence of the intensity of their cleanliness ; the very trammels 
and hangers in the fire-place were highly scoured, and the bur- 
nished face of the good Saint Nicholas shone forth from the iron 
plate of the chimney-back. 



232 beoek: oe the dutch paradise. 

Among the decorations of the kitchen, was a printed sheet of 
wood-cuts, representing the various holiday customs of Holland, 
with explanatory rhymes. Here I was delighted to recognize the 
jollities of New- Year's day ; the festivities of Paas and Pinkster, 
and all the other merrymakings handed down in my native place 
from the earliest times of New- Amsterdam, and which had been 
such bright spots in the year, in my childhood. I eagerly made 
myself master of this precious document, for a trifling consider- 
ation, and bore it off as a memento of the place ; though I ques- 
tion if, in so doing, I did not carry off with me the whole current 
literature of Broek. 

I must not omit to mention, that this village is the paradise 
of cows as well as men : indeed you would almost suppose the cow 
to be as much an object of worship here, as the bull was among 
the ancient Egyptians ; and well does she merit it, for she is in 
fact the patroness of the place. The same scrupulous cleanliness, 
however, which pervades every thing else, is manifested in the 
treatment of this venerated animal. She is not permitted to per- 
ambulate the place, but in winter, when she forsakes the rich pas- 
ture, a well-built house is provided for her, well painted, and main- 
tained in the most perfect order. Her stall is of ample dimensions; 
the floor is scrubbed and polished ; her hide is daily curried and 
brushed, and sponged to her heart's content, and her tail ia 
daintily tucked up to the ceiling, and decorated with a ribbon ! 

On my way back through the village, I passed the house of 
the prediger, or preacher; a very comfortable mansion, which led 
me to augur well of the state of religion in the village. On in- 
quiry, I was told that for a long time the inhabitants lived in a 
great state of indifference as to religious matters : it was in vain 



BROEK : OK THE DUTCH PARADISE. 233 

fcbat their preachers endeavored to arouse their thoughts as to a 
future state : the joys of heaveu, as commonly depicted, were but 
little to their taste. At length a dominie appeared among them, 
who struck out in a different vein. He depicted the New Jeru- 
salem as a place all smooth and level; with beautiful dykes, and 
ditches, and canals ; and houses all shining with paint and varnish, 
and glazed tiles ; and where there should never come horse, nor 
ass, nor cat, nor dog, nor any thing that could make noise or dirt ; 
but there should be nothing but rubbing and scrubbing, and wash- 
ing and painting, and gilding and varnishing, for ever and ever, 
amen ! Since that time, the good housewives of Broek have all 
turned their faces Zionward. 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

FOUND AMONG THE KNICKERBOCKER PAPERS AT WOLFEEt's EOOST. 

Whoever has visited the ancient and renowned village of Com- 
munipaw, may have noticed an old stone building, of most ruin- 
ous and sinister appearance. The doors and window-shutters are 
ready to drop from their hinges ; old clothes are stuffed in the 
broken panes of glass, while legions of half-starved dogs prowl 
about tbe premises, and rush out and bark at every passer by 5 
for your beggarly house in a village is most apt to swarm with 
profligate and ill-conditioned dogs. What adds to the sinister ap- 
pearance of this mansion, is a tall frame in front, not a little re- 
sembling a gallows, and which looks as if waiting to accommodate 
some of the inhabitants with a well-merited airing. It is not a 
gallows, however, but an ancient sign-post ; for this dwelling 
in the golden days of Communipaw, was one of the most order- 
ly and peaceful of village taverns, where public affairs were 
talked and smoked over. In fact, it was in this very build 
ing that Oloffe the Dreamer, and his companions, concerted that 
great voyage of discovery and colonization, in which they explor- 



GUESTS FKOM GIBBET-ISLAJS^D. 235 

ed Buttermilk Channel, were nearly shipwrecked in the strait of 
Hell-gate, and finally landed on the island of Manhattan, and 
founded the great city of New- Amsterdam, 

Even after the province had been cruelly wrested from the 
sway of their High Mightinesses, by the combined forces of the 
British and the -Yankees, this tavern continued its ancient loyalty. 
It is true, the head of the Prince of Orange disappeared from the 
sign, a strange bird being painted over it, with the explanatory 
legend of "Die Wilde Gtans," or, The Wild Goose; but this all 
the world knew to be a sly riddle of the landlord, the worthy 
Teunis Van Grieson, a knowing man, in a small way, who laid his 
finger beside his nose and winked, when any one studied the sig- 
nification of his sign, and observed that his goose was hatching, 
but would join the flock whenever they flew over the water; an 
enigma which was the perpetual recreation and delight of the 
loyal but fat-headed burghers of Communipaw. 

Under the sway of this patriotic, though discreet and quiet 
publican, the tavern continued to flourish in primeval tranquil- 
lity, and was the resort of true-hearted Nederlanders, from 
all parts of Pavonia ; who met here quietly and secretly, to 
smoke and drink the downfall of Briton and Yankee, and suc- 
cess to Admiral Van Tromp. 

The only drawback on the comfort of the establishment, was 
a nephew of mine host, a sister's son, Yan Yost Vanderscamp 
by name, and a real scamp by nature. This unlucky whipster 
showed an early propensity to mischief, which he gratified in a 
small way, by playing tricks upon the frequenters of the Wild 
Goose ; putting gunpowder in their pipes, or squibs in their 
pockets, and astonishing them with an explosion, while they sat 



236 GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

nodding round the fireplace in the bar-room ; and if perchance a 
worthy burgher from some distant part of Pavonia lingered until 
dark over his potation, it was odds but young Vanderscamp 
would slip a brier under his horse's tail, as he mounted, and send 
him clattering along the road, in neck-or-nothing style, to the in- 
finite astonishment and discomfiture of the rider. . 

It may be wondered at, that mine host of the Wild Groose 
did not turn such a graceless varlet out of doors ; but Teunis 
Van Gieson was an easy-tempered man, and having no child of 
his own, looked upon his nephew with almost parental indul- 
gence. His patience and good nature were doomed to be tried 
by another inmate of his mansion. This was a cross-grained 
curmudgeon of a negro, named Pluto, who was a kind of enigma 
in Communipaw. Where he came from, nobody knew. He wag 
found one morning, after a storm, cast like a sea-monster on the 
strand, in front of the Wild Goose, and lay there, more dead than 
alive. The neighbors gathered round, and speculated on this 
production of the deep ; whether it were fish or flesh, or a com- 
pound of both, commonly yclept a merman. The kind-hearted 
Teunis Van Gieson, seeing that he wore the human form, took 
him into his house, and warmed him into life. By degrees, he 
showed signs, of intelligence, and even uttered sounds very much 
like language, but which no one in Comnmnipaw could under- 
stand. Some thought him a negro just from Gruinea, who had 
either fallen overboard, or escaped from a slave-ship. Nothing, 
however, could ever draw from him any account of his origin. 
When questioned on the subject, he merely pointed to Gibbet- 
Island, a small rocky islet, which lies in the open bay, just oppo- 
site Communipaw, as if that were his native place, though 
3very body knew it had never been inhabited. 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 237 

In the process of time, he acquired something of the Dutch 
language, that is to say, he learnt all its vocabulary of oaths and 
maledictions, with just words suflScient to string them together. 
'* Donder en blicksem ! " (thunder and lightning), was the gen- 
tlest of his ejaculations. For years he kept about the Wild 
Goose, more like one of those familiar spirits, or household gob- 
lins, we read of, than like a human being. He acknowledged 
allegiance to no one, but performed various domestic offices, 
when it suited his humor ; waiting occasionally on the guests ; 
grooming the horses, cutting wood, drawing water ; and all 
this without being ordered. Lay any command on him, and 
the stubborn sea urchin was sure to rebel. He was never so 
much at home, however, as when on the water, plying about in 
skiff or canoe, entirely alone, fishing, crabbing, or grabbing for 
oysters, and would bring home quantities for the larder of the 
Wild Goose, which he would throw down at the kitchen door, 
with a growl. No wind nor weather deterred him from launch- 
ing forth on his favorite element : indeed, the wilder the weather, 
the more he seemed to enjoy it. If a storm was brewing, he 
was sure to put off from shore ; and would be seen far out in 
the bay, his light skiff dancing like a feather on the waves, when 
sea and sky were in a turmoil, and the stoutest ships were fain 
to lower their sails. Sometimes on such occasions he would 
be absent for days together. How he weathered the tempest, 
and how and where he subsisted, no one could divine, nor did 
any one venture to ask, for all had an almost superstitious 
awe of him. Some of the Communipaw oystermen declared 
they had more than once seen him suddenly disappear, canoe and 
all, as if plunged beneath the waves, and after a while come up 



238 GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

again, in quite a different part of the bay ; whence they con- 
cluded that he could live under water like that notable species 
of wild duck, commonly called the hell-diver. All began to 
consider him in the light of a foul-weather bird, like the Mother 
Carey's Chicken, or stormy petrel ; and whenever they saw him 
putting far out in his skiff, in cloudy weather, made up their 
minds for a storm. 

The only being for whom he seemed to have any liking, was 
Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and him he liked for his very wicked- 
ness. He in a manner took the boy under his tutelage, prompt- 
ed him to all kinds of mischief, aided him in every wild harum- 
scarum freak, until the lad became the complete scape-grace of 
the village ; a pest to his uncle, and to every one else. Nor 
were his pranks confined to the land ; he soon learned to accom- 
pany old Pluto on the water. Together these worthies would 
cruise about the broad bay, and all the neighboring straits and 
rivers ; poking around in skiffs and canoes ; robbing the set nets 
of the fishermen ; landing on remote coasts, and laying waste 
orchards and water-melon patches ; in short, carrying on a com- 
plete system of piracy, on a small scale. Piloted by Pluto, the 
youthful Vanderscamp soon became acquainted with all the 
bays, rivers, creeks, and inlets of the watery world around him ; 
could navigate from the Hook to Spiting-devil on the darkest 
night, and learned to set even the terrors of Hell-gate at defiance. 

At length, negro and boy suddenly disappeared, and days 
and weeks elapsed, but without tidings of them. Some said 
they must have run away and gone to sea ; others jocosely hint 
ed, that old Pluto, being no other than his namesake in dis- 
guise, had spirited away the boy to the nether regions. All, 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 239 

however, agreed in one thing, that the village was well rid of 
them. 

In the process of time, the good Tennis Van G-ieson slept 
with his fathers, and the tavern remained shut up, waiting for a 
claimant, for the next heir was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and he 
had not been heard of for years. At length, one day, a boat 
was seen pulling for shore, from a long, black, rakish-looking 
schooner, that lay at anchor in the bay. The boat's crew seemed 
worthy of the craft from which they debarked. Never had such 
a set of noisy, roistering, swaggering varlets landed in peaceful 
Communipaw. They were outlandish in garb and demeanor, 
and were headed by a rough, burly, bully ruffian, with fiery whis- 
kers, a copper nose, a scar across his face, and a great Flaun- 
derish beaver slouched on one side of his head, in whom, to their 
dismay, the quiet inhabitants were made to recognise their early 
pest, Yan Yost Vanderscamp. The rear of this hopeful gang 
was brought up by old Pluto, who had lost an eye, grown grizzly- 
headed, and looked more like a devil than ever. Vanderscamp 
renewed his acquaintance with the old burghers, much against 
their will, and in a manner not at all to their taste. He slapped 
them familiarly on the back, gave them an iron grip of the hand, 
and was hail fellow well met. According to his own account, 
he had been all the world over ; had made money by bags full ; 
had ships in every sea, and now meant to turn the Wild Goose 
into a country-seat, where he and his comrades, all rich mer- 
chants from foreign parts, might enjoy themselves in the interval 
of their voyages. 

Sure enough, in a little while there was a complete metamor- 
phose of the Wild Goose. From being a quiet, peaceful Dutch 



240 GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

public house, it became a most riotous, uproarious private dwell- 
ing ; a complete rendezvous for boisterous men of the seas, who 
came here to have what they called a " blow out " on dry land, 
and might be seen at all hours, lounging about the door, or loll- 
ing out of the windows ; swearing among themselves, and crack- 
ing rough jokes on every passer by. The house was fitted up, 
too, in so strange a manner : hammocks slung to the walls, in- 
stead of bedsteads ; odd kinds of furniture, of foreign fashion ; 
bamboo couches, Spanish chairs ; pistols, cutlasses, and blunder- 
busses, suspended on every peg ; silver crucifixes on the mantel- 
pieces, silver candlesticks and porringers on the tables, contrast- 
ing oddly with the pewter and Delf ware of the original estab- 
lishment. And then the strange amusements of these sea-mon- 
sters ! Pitching Spanish dollars, instead of quoits , firing blun- 
derbusses out of the window ; shooting at a mark, or at any un- 
happy dog, or cat, or pig, or barn-door fowl, that might happen 
to come within reach. 

The only being who seemed to relish their rough waggery 
was old Pluto ; and yet he led but a dog's life of it ; for they 
practised all kinds of manual jokes upon him ; kicked him about 
like a football ; shook him by his grizzly mop of wool, and never 
spoke to him without coupling a curse by way of adjective to his 
name, and consigning him to the infernal regions. The old fel- 
low, however, seemed to like them the better, the more they 
cursed him, though his utmost expression of pleasure never 
amounted to more than the growl of a petted bear, when his ears 
are rubbed. 

Old Pluto was the ministering spirit at the orgies of the 
Wild Groose ; and such orgies as took place there ! Such drink- 



GUESTS FKOil GLBBET-ISLAlfD. 241 

ing, singing, whooping, swearing ; with an occasional interlude 
of quarrelling and fighting. The noisier grew the revel, the 
more old Pluto plied the potations, until the guests would be- 
come frantic in their merriment, smashing every thing to pieces, 
and throwing the house out of the windows. Sometimes, after a 
drinking bout, they sallied forth and scoured the village, to the 
dismay of the worthy burghers, who gathered their women with- 
in doors, and would have shut up the house. Vanderscamp, 
however, was not to be rebuffed. He insisted on renewing ac- 
quaintance with his old neighbors, and on introducing his friends, 
the merchants, to their families ; swore he was on the look-out 
for a wife, and meant, before he stopped, to find husbands for all 
their daughters. So, will-ye, nill-ye, sociable he was ; swaggered 
about their best parlors, with his hat on one side of his head ; 
sat on the good wife's nicely-waxed mahogany table, kicking his 
heels against the carved and polished legs ; kissed and tousled 
the young vrouws ; and, if they frowned and pouted, gave them 
a gold rosary, or a sparkling cross, to put them in good humor 
again. 

Sometimes nothing would satisfy him, but he must have 
some of his old neighbors to dinner at the Wild Goose. There 
was no refusing him, for he had the complete upper hand of 
the community, and the peaceful burghers all stood in awe of 
him. But what a time would the quiet, worthy men have, 
among these rake-hells, who would delight to astound them with 
the most extravagant gunpowder tales, embroidered with all 
kinds of foreign oaths ; clink the can with them ; pledge them in 
deep potations ; bawl drinking songs in their ears ; and occa- 
sionally fire pistols over their heads, or under the table, and then 
11 



242 GinLSTS FKOM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

laugh in their faces, and ask them how they liked the smell of 
gunpowder. 

Thus was the little village of Communipaw for a time like 
the unfortunate wight possessed with devils ; until Vanderscamp 
and his brother merchants would sail on another trading voyage, 
when the Wild Goose would be shut up, and every thing relapse 
into quiet, only to be disturbed by his next visitation. 

The mystery of all these proceedings gradually dawned upon 
the tardy intellects of Communipaw. These were the times of 
the notorious Captain Kidd, when the American harbors were 
the resorts of piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, under pre- 
text of mercantile voyages, scoured the West Indies, made plun- 
dering descents upon the Spanish Main, visited even the remote 
Indian Seas, and then came to dispose of their booty, have their 
revels, and fit out new expeditions, in the English colonies. 

Vanderscamp had served in this hopeful school, and having 
risen to importance among the buccaneers, had pitched upon his 
native village and early home, as a quiet, out-of-the way, unsus- 
pected place, where he and his comrades, while anchored at New 
York, might have their feasts, and concert their plans, without 
molestation. 

At length the attention of the British government was called 
to these piratical enterprises, that were becoming so frequent 
and outrageous. Vigorous measures were taken to check and 
punish them. Several of the most noted freebooters were caught 
and executed, and three of Vanderscamp's chosen comrades, the 
most riotous swashbucklers of the Wild Groose, were hanged in 
chains on Gibbet-Island, in full sight of their favorite resort. 
As to Vanderscamp himself, he and his man Pluto again dieap 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 243 

poared, and it was hoped by the people of Communipaw that he 
had fallen in some foreign brawl, or been swung on some foreign 
gallows. 

For a time, therefore, the tranquillity of the village was re- 
stored ; the worthy Dutchmen once more smoked their pipes in 
peace, eyeing, with peculiar complacency, their old pests and ter- 
rors, the pirates, dangling and drying in the sun, on Gibbet- 
loland. 

This perfect calm was doomed at length to be ruffled. The 
fiery persecution of the pirates gradually subsided. Justics was 
satisfied with the examples that had been made, and there was no 
more talk of Kidd, and the other heroes of like kidney. On a 
calm summer evening, a boat, somewhat heavily laden, was seen 
pulling into Communipaw. What was the surprise and disquiet 
of the inhabitants, to see Yan Yost Vanderscamp seated at the 
helm, and his man Pluto tugging at the oar ! Vanderscamp, 
however, was apparently an altered man. He brought home with 
him a wife, who seemed to be a shrew, and to have the upper 
hand of him. He no longer was the swaggering, bully rufl&an, but 
affected the regular merchant, and talked of retiring from business, 
and settling down quietly, to pass the rest of his days in his na- 
tive place. 

The Wild Goose mansion was again opened, but with dimin- 
ished splendor, and no riot. It is true, Vanderscamp had frequent 
nautical visitors, and the sound of revelry was occasionally over- 
heard in his house ; but every thing seemed to be done under the 
rose ; and old Pluto was the only servant that officiated at these 
orgies. The visitors, indeed, were by no means of the turbulent 
tamp of their predecessors ; but quiet, mysterious traders, full 



244 GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

of nods, and winks, and hieroglyphic signs, with whom, to use theii 
cant phrase, " every thing was smug." Their ships came to an- 
chor at night, in the lower bay ; and, on a private signal, Vander- 
scamp would launch his boat, and accompanied solely by his man 
Pluto, would make them mysterious visits. Sometimes boats 
pulled in at night, in front of the Wild Groose, and various articles 
of merchandise were landed in the dark, and spirited away, no- 
body knew whither. One of the more curious of the inhabitants kept 
watch, and caught a glimpse of the features of some of these night 
visitors, by the casual glance of a lantern, and declared that he 
recognized more than one of the freebooting frequenters of the 
Wild Goose, in former times; whence he concluded that Van- 
derscamp was at _^ his old game, and that this mysterious mer- 
chandise was nothing more nor less than piratical plunder. The 
more charitable opinion, however, was, that Vanderscamp and his 
comrades, having been driven from their old line of business, by 
the " oppressions of government," had resorted to smuggling to 
make both ends meet. 

Be that as it may: I come now to the extraordinary fact, 
which is the butt-end of this story. It happened late one night, 
that Yan Yost Vanderscamp was returning across the broad bay, 
in his light skiff, rowed by his man Pluto. He had been carous- 
ing on board of a vessel, newly arrived, and was somewhat obfus- 
cated in intellect, by the liquor he had imbibed. It was a still, 
sultry night ; a heavy mass of lurid clouds was rising in the west, 
with the low muttering of distant thunder. Vanderscamp called 
on Pluto to pull lustily, that they might get home before the 
gathering storm. The old negro made no reply, but shaped his 
course so as to skirt the rocky shores of Gibbet-Island. A faint 



GUESTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 245 

creaking overhead caused Vanderscamp to cast up his eyes, when, 
to his horror, he beheld the bodies of his three pot companions 
and brothers in iniquity dangling in the moonlight, their rags 
fluttering, and their chains creaking, as they were slowly swung 
backward and forward by the rising breeze. 

" What do you mean, you blockhead ! " cried Vanderscamp^ 
" by pulling so close to the island ? " 

"I thought you'd be glad to see your old friends once more," 
growled the negro : " you were never afraid of a living man, what 
do you fear from the dead ? " 

" Who's afraid ? " hiccupped Vanderscamp, partly heated by 
liquor, partly nettled by the jeer of the negro ; " who's afraid ! 
Hang me, but I would be glad to see them once more, alive or 
dead, at the Wild Goose. Come, my lads in the wind ! " contin- 
ued he, taking a draught, and flourishing the bottle above his 
head, " here's fair weather to you in the other world ; and if you 
should be walking the rounds to-night, odds fish ! but I'll be happy 
if you will drop in to supper." 

A dismal creaking was the only reply. The wind blew loud 
and shrill, and as it whistled round the gallows, and among the 
bones, sounded as if they were laughing and gibbering in the air. 
Old Pluto chuckled to himself, and now pulled for home. The 
storm burst over the voyagers, while they were yet far from shore. 
The rain fell in torrents, the thunder crashed and pealed, and the 
lightning kept up an incessant blaze. It was stark midnight be« 
fore they landed at Communipaw. 

Dripping and shivering, Vanderscamp crawled homeward. He 
was completely sobered by the storm ; the water soaked from 
without, having diluted and cooled the liquor within. Arrived 



24:6 GUKSTS FROM GIBBET-ISLAND. 

at the Wild Goose, he knocked timidly and dubiously at the door, 
for he dreaded the reception he was to experience from his wife 
He had reason to do so. She met him at the threshold, in a 
precious ill-humor. 

" Is this a time," said she, " to keep people cut of their beds, 
and to bring home company, to turn the house upside down ? " 

"Company?" said Vanderscamp, meekly; "I have brought 
no company with me, wife." 

" No indeed ! they have got here before you, but by your in- 
vitation ; and blessed-looking company they are, truly ! " 

Vanderscamp's knees smote together. " For the love of 
heaven, where are they, wife ? " 

" Where? — ^why in the blue room up stairs, making themselves 
as much at home as if the house were their own." 

Vanderscamp made a desperate effort, scrambled up to the 
room, and threw open the door. Sure enough, there at a table, 
on which burned a light as blue as brimstone, sat the three guests 
from G-ibbet-Island, with halters round their, necks, and bobbing 
their cups together, as if they were hob-or-nobbing, and trolling 
the old Dutch freebooter's glee, since translated into English : 

" For three merry lads be we, 
And three merry lads be we ; 
I on the land, and thou on the sand, 
And Jack on the gallows-tree." 

Vanderscamp saw and heard no more. Starting back with 
borror, he missed his footing on the landing place, and fell from 
the top of the stairs to the bottom. He was taken up speechless, 
and, either from the fall or the fright, was buried in the yard of 
the little Dutch church at Bergen, on the following Sunday. 



GUESTS FEOM GIBBET-ISLAND. 247 

From that day forward, the fate of the Wild Goose was seal- 
ed. It was pronounced a haunted house, and avoided according 
ly. No one inhabited it but Vander scamp's shrew of a widow, and 
old Pluto, and they were considered but little better than its hob- 
goblin visitors. Pluto grew more and more haggard and mo- 
rose, and looked more like an imp of darkness than a human being 
He spoke to no one, but went about muttering to himself; or, aa' 
some hinted, talking with the devil, who, though unseen, was ever 
at his elbow. Now and then he was seen pulling about the bay 
alone, in his skiff, in dark weather, or at the approach of night- 
fall ; nobody could tell why, unless on an errand to invite more 
guests from the gallows. Indeed it was affirmed that the Wild 
Groose still continued to be a house of entertainment for such 
guests, and that on stormy nights, the blue chamber was occasion- 
ally illuminated, and sounds of diabolical merriment were over- 
heard, mingling with the howling of the tempest. Some treat- 
ed these as idle stories, until on one such night, it was about 
the time of the equinox, there was a horrible uproar in the Wild 
Goose, that could not be mistaken. It was not so much the 
sound of revelry, however, as strife, with two or three piercing 
shrieks, that pervaded every part of the village. Nevertheless, no 
one thought of hastening to the spot. On the contrary, the honest 
burghers of Communipaw drew their nightcaps over their ears, 
and buried their heads under the bed-clothes, at the thoughts of 
Vanderscamp and his gallows companions. 

The next morning, some of the bolder and more curious un- 
dertook to reconnoitre. All was quiet and lifeless at the Wild 
Goose. The door yawned wide open, and had evidently been open 
all night, for the storm had beaten into the house. Gathering 



248 GUESTS FKOM GEBBET-ISLAJSTD. 

more courage from the silence and apparent desertion, they gradu- 
ally ventured over the threshold. The house had indeed the aii 
of having been possessed by devils. Every thing was topsy-turvy ; 
trunks had been broken open, and chests of drawers and corner cup- 
boards turned inside out, as in a time of general sack and pillage; 
but the most woeful sight was the widow of Yan Yost V^ander, 
scamp, extended a corpse on the floor of the blue chamber, 
with the marks of a deadly gripe on the windpipe. 

All now was conjecture and dismay at Communipaw ; and the 
disappearance of old Pluto, who was nowhere to be found, gave 
rise to all kinds of wild surmises. Some suggested that the ne- 
gro had betrayed the house to some of Vanderscamp's buccaneering 
associates, and that they had decamped together with the booty ; 
others surmised that the negro was nothing more nor less than 
a devil incarnate, who had now accomplished his ends, and made 
off with his dues. 

Events, however, vindicated the negro from this last imputa- 
tion. His skiff was picked up, drifting about the bay, bottom up- 
ward, as if wrecked in a tempest ; and his body was found, shortly 
afterward, by some Communipaw fishermen, stranded among the 
rocks of Gibbet-Island, near the foot of the pirates' gallows. The 
fishermen shook their heads, and observed that old Pluto had 
ventured once too often to invite Guests from Gibbet-Island. 



THE EARLY EXPERIEI^CES OF RALPH RISGWOOD. 

NOTED DOWN FROM HIS CONVERSATIONS! 
BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.* 

" I AM a Kentuckian by residence and choice, but a Virginian by 
birth. The cause of my first leaving the ' Ancient Dominion,' 
and emigrating to Kentucky, was a jackass ! You stare, but 
have a little patience, and I'll soon show you how it came to pass. 
My father, who was of one of the old Virginian families, resided in 
Richmond. He was a widower, and his domestic afiairs were 
managed by a housekeeper of the old school, such as used to ad- 
minister the concerns of opulent Virginian households. She was 
a dignitary that almost rivalled my father in importance, and 
seemed to think every thing belonged to her ; in fact she was so 
considerate in her economy, and so careful of expense, as some- 
times to vex my father ; who would swear she was disgracing 

* Ealph Ringwood, though a fictitions name, is a real personage — the 
late Governor Duval of Florida. I have given some anecdotes of his early 
and eccentric career in, as nearly as I can recoUect, the very words in 
which he related them. They certainly afford strong temptations to the 
embellishments of fiction ; but I thought them so strikingly characteristic 
of the individual, and of the scenes and society into which his peculiar 
humors carried him, that I preferred giving them in their original sim- 
plicity G. C. 
11* 



250 EXPEEIENCES OF KALPH KINGWOOD. 

him by her meanness. She always apppeared with that an^ 
cient insignia of housekeeping trust and authority, a great bunch 
of keys jingling at her girdle. She superintended the arrange- 
ments of the table at every meal, and saw that the dishes were all 
placed according to her primitive notions of symmetry. In the 
evening she took her stand and served out tea with a mingled re- 
Bpectfulness and pride of station, truly exemplary. Her great 
ambition was to have every thing in order, and that the establish- 
ment under her sway should be cited as a model of good house- 
keeping. If any thing went wrong, poor old Barbara would take 
it to heart, and sit in her room and cry ; until a few chapters in 
the Bible would quiet her spirits, and make all calm again. The 
Bible, in fact, was her constant resort in time of trouble. She 
opened it indiscriminately, and whether she chanced among the 
Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canticles of Solomon, or the 
rough enumeration of the tribes in Deuteronomy, a chapter was 
a chapter, and operated like balm to her soul. Such was our 
good old housekeeper Barbara ; who was destined, unwittingly, 
to have a most important effect upon my destiny. 

" It came to pass, during the days of my juvenility, while I 
was yet what is termed ' an unlucky boy,' that a gentleman of our 
neighborhood, a great advocate for experiments and improvements 
of all kinds, took it into his head that it would be an immense 
public advantage to introduce a breed of mules, and accordingly 
imported three jacks to stock the neighborhood. This in a 
part of the country where the people cared for nothing but 
blood horses ! Why, sir ! they would have considered their 
mares disgraced, and their whole stud dishonored, by such a mis- 
alliance. The whole matter was a town-talk, and a town scandal 



EXPEEIENCES OF EALPH KINGWOOD. 251 

The worthy amalgamator of quadrupeds found himself in a dis 
nial scrape ; so he backed out in time, abjured the whole doctrine 
of amalgamation, and turned his jacks loose to shift for themse'.ves 
upon the town common. There they used to run about and lead 
an idle, good-for-nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals in the 
country. 

" It so happened, that my way to school lay across the com- 
mon. The first time that I saw one of these animals, it set up a 
braying and frightened mo confoundedly. However, I soon got 
over my fright, and seeing that it had something of a horse look, 
my Virginian love for any thing of the equestrian species predom- 
inated, and I determined to back it. I accordingly applied at a 
grocer's shop, procured a cord that had been round a loaf of sugar, 
and made a kind of halter ; then summoning some of my school- 
fellows, we drove master Jack about the common until we hemmed 
him in an angle of a ' worm fence.' After some difficulty, we 
fixed the halter round his muzzle, and I mounted. Up flew his 
heels, away I went over his head, and off he scampered. How- 
ever, I was on my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, caught him, 
and remounted. By dint of repeated tumbles I soon learned 
to stick to his back, so that he could no more cast me than he 
could his own skin. From that time, master Jack and his com- 
panions had a scampering life of it, for we all rode them between 
school hours, and on holiday afternoons; and you may be sure 
school-boys' nags are never permitted to suffer the grass to grow 
under their feet. They soon became so knowing, that they 
took to their heels at sight of a school-boy ; and we were generally 
much longer in chasing than we were in riding them. 

" Sunday approached, on which I projected an equestrian ex- 



252 EXPBKIENCES OF EALPH KINGWOOD. 

cursion on one of these long-eared steeds. As I knew the jacks, 
would be in great demand on Sunday morning, I secured one 
over night, and conducted him home, to be ready for an early 
outset. But where was I to quarter him for the night ? I could not 
put him in the stable ; our old black groom Greorge was as absolute 
in that domain as Barbara was within doors, and would have thought 
his stable, his horses, and himself disgraced, by the introduc- 
tion of a jackass. I recollected the smoke-house ; an out-building 
appended to all Virginian establishments for the smoking of hams, 
and other kinds of meat. So I got the key, put master. Jack in, 
locked the door, returned the key to its place, and went to bed, 
intending to release my prisoner at an early hour, before any of 
the family were awake. I was so tired, however, by the exertions 
I had made in catching the donkey, that I fell into a sound sleep, 
and the morning broke without my waking. 

" Not so with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. As usual, to 
use her own phrase, ' she was up before the crow put his shoes on,' 
and bustled about to get things in order for breakfast. Her first 
resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce had she opened the door, 
when master Jack, tired of his confinement, and glad to be released 
from darkness, gave a loud bray, and rushed forth. Down drop- 
ped old Barbara ; the animal trampled over her, and made off for 
the common. Poor Barbara ! She had never before seen a don- 
key, and having read in the Bible that the Devil went about like 
a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour, she took it for 
granted that this was Beelzebub himself. The kitchen was soon 
in a hubbub ; the servants hurried to the spot. There lay old 
Barbara in fits ; as fast as she got out of one, the thoughts of the 
Devil came over her, and she fell into another^ for the good soul 
was devoutly superstitious. 



EXPEEIENCES OF EALPH KIKGWOOD. 263 

" As ill luck would tave it, among those attracted by the 
noise, was a little cursed fidgetty, crabbed uncle of mine ; one of 
those uneasy spirits that cannot rest quietly in their beds in the 
morning, but must be up early, to bother the household. He was 
only a kind of half uncle, after all, for he had married my father's 
sister : yet he assumed great authority on the strength of this left- 
handed relationship, and was a universal intermeddler, and family 
pest. This prying little busy-body soon ferreted out the truth of 
the story, and discovered, by hook and by crook, that I was at 
the bottom of the affair, and had locked up the donkey in the 
smoke-house. He stopped to inquire no farther, for he was one of 
those testy curmudgeons, with whom unlucky boys are always in 
the wrong. Leaving old Barbara to wrestle in imagination with 
the Devil, he made for my bed-chamber, where I still lay wrap- 
ped in rosy slumbers, little dreaming of the mischief I had done, 
and the storm about to break over me. 

" In an instant, I was awakened by a shower of thwacks, and 
started up in wild amazement. I demanded the meaning of this 
attack, but received no other reply than that I had murdered the 
housekeeper; while my uncle continued whacking away during my 
confusion. I seized a poker, and put myself on the defensive. I 
was a stout boy for my years, while my uncle was a little wiffet of 
a man ; one that in Kentucky we would not call even an ' individ- 
ual ; ' nothing more than a ' remote circumstance.' I soon, 
therefore, brought him to a parley, and learned the whole extent 
of the charge brought against me. I confessed to the donkey and 
the smoke-house, but pleaded not guilty of the murder of the house- 
keeper. I soon found out that old Barbara was still alive. She 
ontinued under the doctor's hands, however, for several days; 



254 EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 

and whenever she had an ill turn, my uncle would seek to give me 
another flogging. I appealed to my father, but got no redress. I 
was considered an * unlucky boy,' prone to all kinds of mischief; 
so that prepossessions were against me, in all cases of appeal, 

" I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had been beaten, de- 
graded, and treated with slighting when I complained. I lost my 
usual good spirits and good humor ; and, being out of temper with 
every body, fancied every body out of temper with me. A certain 
wild, roving spirit of freedom, which I believe is as inherent in me 
as it is in the partridge, was brought into sudden activity by the 
checks and restraints I suffered. ' I'll go from home,' thought I, 
'and shift for myself.' Perhaps this notion was quickened by the 
rage for emigrating to Kentucky, which was at that time pre- 
valent in Virginia. I had heard such stories of the romantic 
beauties of the country ; of the abundance of game of all kinds, 
and of the glorious independent life of the hunters who ranged its 
noble forests, and lived by the rifle, that I was as much agog to 
get there, as boys who live in sea-ports are to launch themselves 
among the wonders and adventures of the ocean. 

" After a time, old Barbara got better in mind and body, and 
matters were explained to her ; and she became gradually con- 
vinced that it was not the Devil she had encountered. When she 
heard how harshly I had been treated on her account, the good 
old soul was extremely grieved, and spoke warmly to my father 
in my behalf He had himself remarked the change in my be- 
havior, and thought punishment might have been carried too far. 
He sought, therefore, to have some conversation with me, and to 
soothe my feelings ; but it was too late. I frankly told him tho 
course of mortification that I had experienced, and the fixed de- 
termination I had made to go from home. 



EXPEEIENCES OF RALPH KINGWOOD. 255 

" • And where do you mean to go ? ' 

" ' To Kentucky.' 

" ' To Kentucky ! Why, you know nobody there.' 

" ' No matter : I can soon make acquaintances.' 

" ' And what will you do when you get there ? ' 

« ' Hunt ! ' 

" My father gave a long, low whistle, and looked in my face 
with a serio-comic expression. I was not far in my teens, and to 
talk of setting off alone for Kentucky, to turn hunter, seemed 
doubtless the idle prattle of a boy. He was little aware of the 
dogged resolution of my character ; and his smile of incredulity 
but fixed me more obstinately in my purpose. I assured him 1 
was serious in what I said, and would certainly set off for Ken- 
tucky in the spring. 

" Month after month passed away. My father now and then 
adverted slightly to what had passed between us; doubtless for 
the purpose of sounding me. I always expressed the same grave 
and fixed determination. By degrees he spoke to me more directly 
on the subject ; endeavoring earnestly but kindly to dissuade me. 
My only reply was, ' I had made up my mind.' 

" Accordingly, as soon as the spring had fairly opened, I 
sought him one day in his study, and informed him I was about 
to set out for Kentucky, and had come to take my leave. He 
made no objection, for he had exhausted persuasion and remon- 
strance, and doubtless thought it best to give way to my humor, 
trusting that a little rough experience would soon bring me home 
again. I asked money for my journey. He went to a chest, took 
out a long green silk purse, well filled, and laid it on the table 
I now asked for a horse and servant. 



256 EXPEEEENCES OF RALPH KINGWOOD. 

" ' A horse ! ' said my father, sneeringly : ' why, you would 
not go a mile without racing him, and breaking your neck ; and 
as to a servant, you cannot take care of yourself, much less of him ' 

" ' How am I to travel, then ? ' 

" * Why, I suppose you are man enough to travel on foot.' 

" He spoke jestingly, little thinking I would take him at his 
word ; but I was thoroughly piqued in respect to my enterprise ; 
so I pocketed the purse ; went to my room, tied up three or four 
shirts in a pocket-handkerchief, put a dirk in my bosom, girt a 
couple of pistols round my waist, and felt like a knight-errant 
armed cap-a-pie, and ready to rove the world in quest of ad- 
ventures. 

" My sister (I had but one) hung round me and wept, and en- 
treated me to stay. I felt my heart swell in my throat : but I 
gulped it back to its place, and straightened myself up : I would 
not suffer myself to cry. I at length disengaged myself from her, 
and got to the door. 

" ' When will you come back? ' cried she. 

" ' Never, by heavens ! ' cried I, ' until I come back a membei 
of Congress from Kentucky. I am determined to show that 
I am not the tail-end of the family.' 

" Such was my first outset from home. You may suppose 
what a green-horn I was, and how little I knew of the world I 
was launching into. 

" I do not recollect any incident of importance, until I reached 
the borders of Pennsylvania. I had stopped at an inn to get somo 
refreshment ; as I was eating in a back-room, I overheard two 
men in the bar-room conjecture who and what I could be. One 
determined, at length, that I was a runaway apprentice, and 



EXPERIENCES OF KALPH EINGWOOD. 257 

ought to be stopped, to whicli the other assented. When I had 
finished my meal, and paid for it, I went out at the back door, 
lest I should be stopped by my supervisors. Scorning, however, 
to steal oflF like a culprit, I walked round to the front of the house. 
One of the men advanced to the front door. He wore his hat on 
one side, and had a consequential air that nettled me. 

" ' Where are you going, youngster ? ' demanded he. 

" ' That's none of your business ! ' replied I, rather pertly. 

" ' Yes, but it is though ! You have run away from home, 
and must give an account of yourself.' 

" He advanced to seize me, when I drew forth a pistol. 'If 
you advance another step, I'll shoot you ! ' 

" He sprang back as if he had trodden upon a rattlesnake, and 
his hat fell off in the movement. 

" ' Let him alone ! ' cried his companion ; ' he's a foolish, 
mad-headed boy, and don't know what he's about. He'll shoot 
you, you may rely on it.' 

" He did not need any caution in the matter ; he was afraid 
even to pick up his hat : so I pushed forward on my way, without 
molestation. This incident, however, had its effect upon me. I 
became fearful of sleeping in any house at night, lest I should be 
stopped. I took my meals in the houses, in the course of the day, 
but would turn aside at night, into some wood or ravine, make a 
fire, and sleep before it. This I considered was true hunter's 
style, and I wished to inure myself to it. 

" At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg-weary and way-worn, 
and in a shabby plight, as you may suppose, having been ' camp- 
ing out ' for some nights past. I applied at some of the inferior 
inns, but could gain no admission. I was regarded for a moment 



258 EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 

witli a dubious eye, and then informed they did not receive foot- 
passengers. At last I went boldly to the principal inn. The 
landlord appeared as unwilling as the rest to receive a vagrant 
boy beneath his roof; but his wife interfered, in the midst of his 
excuses, and half elbowing him aside : 

" ' Where are you going, my lad ? ' said she, 

" ' To Kentucky.' 

" ' "What are you going there for ? ' 

" ' To hunt.' 

" She looked earnestly at me for a moment or two. ' Have 
you a mother living ? ' said she, at length. 

" ' No, madam : she has been dead for some time.' 

" ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. ' I knew if you had a 
mother living, you would not be here.' From that moment the 
good woman treated me with a mother's kindness. 

I remained several days beneath her roof, recovering from 
the fatigue of my journey. While here, I purchased a rifle, and 
practised daily at a mark, to prepare myself for a hunter's life. 
When sufficiently recruited in strength, I took leave of my kind 
host and hostess, and resumed my journey. 

" At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed family boat, 
technically called a broad-horn, a prime river conveyance in those 
days. In this ark for two weeks I floated down the Ohio. The 
river was as yet in all its wild beauty. Its loftiest trees had not 
been thinned out. The forest overhung the water's edge, and 
was occasionally skirted by immense canebrakes. Wild animals 
of all kinds abounded. We heard them rushing through the 
thickets, and plashing in the water. Deer and bears would fre- 
quently ewim across the river ; others would come down to the 



EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 259 

bank, and gaze at the boat as it passed. I was incessantly on 
the alert with my rifle ; but somehow or other, the game was 
never within shot. Sometimes I got a chance to land and try my 
skill on shore. I shot squirrels, and small birds, and even wild 
turkeys ; but though I caught glimpses of deer bounding away 
through the woods, I never could get a fair shot at them. 

" In this way we glided in our broad-horn past Cincinnati, 
the ' Queen of the West,' as she is now called ; then a mere group 
of log cabins ; and the site of the bustling city of Louisville, then 
designated by a solitary house. As I said before, the . Ohio 
was as yet a wild river ; all was forest, forest, forest ! Near the 
confluence of Green River with the Ohio, I landed, bade adieu to 
the broad-horn, and struck for the interior of Kentucky. I had 
no precise plan ; my only idea was to make for one of the wildest 
parts of the country. I had relatives in Lexington, and other 
settled places, to whom I thought it probable my father would 
write concerning me : so as I was full of manhood and indepen- 
dence, and resolutely bent on making my way in the world without 
assistance or control, I resolved to keep clear of them all. 

" In the course of my first day's trudge, I shot a wild turkey, 
and slung it on my back for provisions. The forest was open and 
clear from underwood. I saw deer in abundance, but always run- 
ning, running. It seemed to me as if these animals never stood still. 

" At length I came to where a gang of half-starved wolves 
were feasting on the carcass of a deer which they had run down ; 
and snarling and snapping, and fighting like so many dogs. They 
were all so ravenous and intent upon their prey, that they did not 
notice me, and I had time to make my observations. One, larger 
and fiercer than the rest, seemed to claim the larger share, and 



260 EXPEKIENCES OF KALPII KINGWOOD. 

to keep the others in awe. If any one came too near him while 
eating, he would fly off, seize and shake him, and then return to 
his repast. ' This,' thought I, 'must be the captain; if I can 
kill him, I shall defeat the whole army.' I accordingly took aim, 
fired, and down dropped the old fellow. He might be only sham- 
ming dead ; so I loaded and put a second ball through him. He 
never budged ; all the rest ran off, and my victory was complete. 

" It would not be easy to describe my triumphant feelings on 
this great achievement. I marched on with renovated spirit ,• re- 
garding myself as absolute lord of the forest. As night drew 
near, I prepared for camping. My first care was to collect dry 
wood and make a roaring fire to cook and sleep by, and to frighten 
off wolves, and bears, and panthers. I then began to pluck my 
turkey for supper. I had camped out several times in the early 
part of my expedition ; but that was in comparatively more set- 
tled and civilized regions ; where there were no wild animals of 
consequence in the forest. This was my first camping out in the 
real wilderness ; and I was soon made sensible of the loneliness 
and wildness of my situation. 

" In a little while, a concert of wolves commenced : there 
might have been a dozen or two, but it seemed to me as if there 
were thousands. I never heard such howling and whining. 
Having prepared my turkey, I divided it into two parts, thrust 
two sticks into one of the halves, and planted them on end before 
the fire, the hunter's mode of roasting. The smell of roast meat 
quickened the appetites of the wolves, and their concert became 
truly infernal. They seemed to be all around me, but I could 
only now and then get a glimpse of one of them, as he came with- 
n the glare of the light. " 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH EINGWOOD. 261 

" I did not much care for tlie wolves, who I knew to bo a 
cowardly race, but I had heard terrible stories of panthers, and 
began to fear their stealthy prowlings in the surrounding dark- 
ness. I was thirsty, and heard a brook bubbling and tinkling 
along at no great distance, but absolutely dared not go there, lest 
Bome panther might lie in wait, and spring upon me. By and by 
a deer whistled. I had never heard one before, and thought it 
must be a panther. I now felt uneasy lest he might climb the 
trees, crawl along the branches over head, and plump down upon 
me ; so I kept my eyes fixed on the branches, until my head 
ached. I more than once thought I saw fiery eyes glaring down 
from among the leaves. At length I thought of my supper, and 
turned to see if my half turkey was cooked. In crowding so 
near the fire, I had pressed the meat into the flames, and it was 
consumed I had nothing to do but toast the other half, and 
take better care of it. On that half I made my supper, without 
salt or bread. I was still so possessed with the dread of pan- 
thers, that I could not close my eyes all night, but lay watching 
the trees until daybreak, when all my fears were dispelled with 
the darkness ; and as I saw the morning sun sparkling down 
through the branches of the trees, I smiled to think how I suf- 
fered myself to be dismayed by sounds and shadows : but I was 
a young woodsman, and a stranger in Kentucky. 

" Having breakfasted on the remainder of my turkey, and 
slaked my thirst at the bubbling stream, without farther dread 
of panthers, I resumed my wayfaring with buoyant feelings. I 
again saw deer, but as usual running, running ! I tried in vain 
to get a shot at them, and began to fear T never should. I was 
gazing with vexation after a herd in full scamper, when I wan 



262 EXPEEIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 

startled by a human voice. Turning round, I saw a man at a 
short distance from me, in a hunting-dress. 

" ' What are you after, my lad ?' cried he. 

" ' Those deer ; ' replied I, pettishly ; ' but it seems as if they 
never stand still.' 

" Upon that he burst out Jaughing. ' Where are you from ? ' 
said he. 

" ' From Richmond.* 

" ' What ! In old Virginny ? ' 

" ' The same.' 

" ' And how on earth did you get here?' 

" ' I landed at Grreen River from a broad-horn,' 

" ' And where are your companions ? ' 

" ' I have none.' 

" ' What ?— all alone ! ' 

"'Yes.' 

" 'Where are you going? ' 

" ' Any where,' 

" ' And what have you come here for ? ' 

" ' To hunt.' 

"'Well,' said he, laughingly, 'you'll make a real hunter; 
there's no mistaking that ! ' 

" ' Have you killed any thing ? ' 

" ' Nothing but a turkey ; I can't get within shot of a deer : 
they are always running.' 

" ' Oh, I'll tell you the secret of that. You're always push, 
ing forward, and starting the deer at a distance, and gazing at 
those that are scampering; but you must step as slow, and silent, 
and cautious as a cat, and keep your eyes close around you, and 



EXPERIENCES OF KALPH JRINGWOOD. 263 

lurk fi om tree to tree, if you wish to get a chance at deer. But 
some, go home with me. My name is Bill Smithers ; I live not 
far off: stay with me a little while, and I'll teach you how to 
hunt.' 

" I gladly accepted the invitation of honest Bill Smithers. 
We soon reached his habitation ; a mere log hut, with a square 
hole for a window, and a chimney made of sticks and clay. Here 
he lived, with a wife and child. He had ' girdled ' the trees for 
an acre or two around, preparatory to clearing a space for corn 
and potatoes. In the mean time he maintained his family entire- 
ly by his rifle, and I soon found him to be a first-rate huntsman. 
Under his tutelage I received my first effective lessons in 'wood- 
craft.' 

" The more I knew of a hunter's life, the more I relished it. 
The country, too, which had been the promised land of my boy- 
hood, did not, like most promised lands, disappoint me. No 
wilderness could be more beautiful than this part of Kentucky, 
in these times. The forests were open and spacious, with noble 
trees, some of which looked as if they had stood for centuries. 
There were beautiful prairies, too, diversified with groves and 
clumps of trees, which looked like vast parks, and in which you 
could see the deer running, at a great distance. In the proper 
season, these prairies would be covered in many places with wild 
strawberries, where your horse's hoofs would be dyed to the fet- 
lock. I thought there could not be another place in the world 
equal to Kentucky — and I think so still. 

" After I had passed ten or twelve days with Bill Smithers, 
I thought it time to shift my quarters, for his house was scarce 
large enough for his own family, and I had no idea of being an 



264: EXPEEIENCES OF KALPH KINGWOOD. 

encumbrance to any one. I accordingly made up my bundle? 
shouldered my rifle, took a friendly leave of Smithers and Lis 
wife, and set out in quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, one John 
Miller, who lived alone, nearly forty miles off, and who I hoped 
would be well pleased to have a hunting companion. 

" I soon found out that one of the most important items in 
woodcraft, in a new country, was the skill to find one's way in the 
jsrilderness. There were no regular roads in the forests, but they 
were cut up and perplexed by paths leading in all directions. 
Some of these were made by the cattle of the settlers, and were 
called ' stock-tracks,' but others had been made by the immense 
di'oves of buffaloes which roamed about the country, from the flood 
until recent times. These were called buffalo-tracks, and traversed 
Kentucky from end to end, like highways. Traces of them may 
still be seen in uncultivated parts, or deeply worn in the rocks 
where they crossed the mountains. I was a young woodsman, and 
sorely puzzled to distinguish one kind of track from the other, or 
to make out my course through this tangled labyrinth. While 
thus perplexed, I heard a distant roaring and rushing sound; a 
gloom stole over the forest : on looking up, when I could catch a 
stray glimpse of the sky, I beheld the clouds rolled up like balls, 
the lower part as black as ink. There was now and then an ex- 
plosion, like a burst of cannonry afar off, and the crash of a fall- 
ing tree. I had heard of hurricanes in the woods, and surmised 
that one was at hand. It soon came crashing its way ; the forest 
writhing, and twisting, and groaning before it. The hurricane 
did not extend far on either side, but in a manner ploughed a fur- 
row through the woodland ; snapping off or uprooting trees that 
had stood for centuries, and fllling the air with whirling branches. 



EXPERIENCES OF KALPH EINGWOOD. 265 

I was directly in its course, and took my stand behind an immense 
poplar, six feet in diameter. It bore for a time the full fury of 
the blast, but at length began to yield. Seeing it falling, I 
scrambled nimbly round the trunk like a squirrel. Down it went 
bearing doM'n another tree with it. I crept under the trunk as a 
shelter, and was protected from other trees which fell around me, 
but was sore all oyer, from the twigs and branches driven against 
me by the blast. 

'' This was the only incident of consequence that occurred on 
my way to John Miller's, where I arrived on the following day, 
and was received by the veteran with the rough kindness of a back- 
woodsman. He was a grayhaired man, hardy and weather-beaten, 
with a blue wart, like a great bead, over one eye, whence he was 
nicknamed by the hunters, ' Blue-bead Miller.' He had been in 
these parts from the earliest settlements, and had signalized him- 
self in the hard conflicts with the Indians, which gained Kentucky 
the appellation of ' the Bloody Ground.' In one of these fio-hts 
he had had an arm broken ; in another he had narrowly escaped, 
when hotly pursued, by jumping from a precipice, thirty feet hio-h 
into a river. 

" Miller willingly received me into his house as an inmate, 
and seemed pleased with the idea of making a hunter of me. His 
dwelling was a small log-house, with a loft or garret of boards, so 
that there was ample room for both of us. Under his instruc- 
tion, I soon made a tolerable proficiency in hunting. My first 
exploit of any consequence was killing a bear. I was hunting in 
company with two brothers, when we came upon the track of 
Bruin, in a wood where there was an undergrowth of canes and 
grape-vines He was scrambling up a tree, when I shot him 



266 EXPEKIENCES OF RALPH EINGWOOD. 

through the breast : he fell to the ground, and lay motionless. 
The brothers sent in their dog, who seized the bear by the throat. 
Bruin raised one arm, and gave the dog a hug that crushed his 
ribs. One yell, and all was over. I don't know which was first 
dead, the dog or the bear. The two brothers sat down and cried 
like children over their unfortunate dog. Yet they were mere 
rough huntsmen almost as wild and untamable as Indians : but 
they were fine fellows. 

" By degrees I became known, and somewhat of a favorite 
among the hunters of the neighborhood ; that is to say, men who 
lived within a circle of thirty or forty miles, and came occasional- 
ly to see John Miller, who was a patriarch among them. They 
lived widely apart, in log-huts and wigwams, almost with the 
simplicity of Indians, and well-nigh as destitute of the comforts 
and inventions of civilized life. They seldom saw each other ; 
weeks, and even months would elapse, without their visiting. When 
they did meet, it was very much after the manner of Indians ; 
loitering about all day, without having much to say, but becoming 
communicative as evening advanced, and sitting up half the night 
before the fire, telling hunting stories, and terrible tales of the 
fights of the Bloody Ground. 

" Sometimes several would join in a distant hunting expedi- 
tion, or rather campaign. Expeditions of this kind lasted from 
November until April ; during which we laid up our stock of sum- 
mer provisions. We shifted our hunting camps from place to 
place, according as we found the game. They were generally 
pitched near a run of water, and close by a canebrake, to screen ua 
from the wind. One side of our lodge was open towards the fire. 
Our horses were hoppled and turned loose in the canebrakes, with 



EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 267 

bells round their necks. One of the party staid at home to watch 
the camp, prepare the meals, and keep off the wolves ; the others 
hunted. When a hunter killed a deer at a distance from the camp, 
he would open it and take out the entrails ; then climbing a sap- 
ling, he Avould bend it down, tie the deer to the top, and let it 
spring up again so as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the 
wolves. At night he would return to the camp, and give an ac- 
count of his luck. The next morning early he would get a horse 
out of the canebrake and bring home his game. That day he 
would stay at home to cut up the carcass, while the others hunted. 

*' Our days were thus spent in silent and lonely occupations. 
It was only at night that we would gather together before the 
fire, and be sociable. I was a novice, and used to listen with 
open eyes and ears to the strange and wild stories told by the old 
hunters, and believed every thing I heard. Some of their stories 
bordered upon the supernatural. They believed that their rifles 
might be spellbound, so as not to be able to kill a buffalo, even 
at arm's length. This superstition they had derived from the In- 
dians, who often think the white hunters have laid a spell upon 
their rifles Miller partook of this superstition, and used to tell 
of his rifle's having a spell upon it ; but it often seemed to me to 
be a shuffling way of accounting for a bad shot. If a hunter 
grossly missed his aim, he would ask, ' Who shot last with his 
rifle ? ' — and hint that he must have charmed it. The sure mode to 
disenchant the gun was to shoot a silver bullet out of it. 

" By the opening of spring we would generally have quantities 
of bear's meat and venison salted, dried, and smoked, and numer- 
ous packs of skins. We would then make the best of our way 
ome from our distant hunting-grounds ; transporting our spoilSj 



268 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH KlIS'GWOOD. 

sometimes in canoes along the rivers, sometimes on liorsebacli 
over land, and our return would often be celebrated by feasting 
and dancing, in true backwoods style. I have given you some 
idea of our hunting ; let me now give you a sketch of our 
frolicking. 

" It was on our return from a winter's hunting in the neigh- 
borhood of Grreen Kiver, when we received notice that there was 
to be a grand frolic at Bob Mosely's, to greet the hunters. This 
Bob Mosely was a prime fellow throughout the country. He was 
an indifferent hunter, it is true, and rather lazy, to boot ; but 
then he could play the fiddle, and that was enough to make him 
of consequence. There was no other man within a hundred miles 
that could play the fiddle, so there was no having a regular frolic 
without Bob Mosely. The hunters, therefore, were always ready 
to give him a share of their game in exchange for his music, and 
Bob was always ready to get up a carousal, whenever there was a 
party returning from a hunting expedition. The present frolic 
was to take place at Bob Mosely's own house, which was on the 
Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy, which is a branch of Rough 
Creek, which is a branch of Grreen River. 

" Every body was agog for the revel at Bob Mosely's ; and as 
all the fashion of the neighborhood was to be there, I thought I 
must brush up for the occasion. My leathern hunting-dress, which 
was the only one I had, was somewhat the worse for wear, it is 
true, and considerably japanned with blood and grease; but I was 
up to hunting expedients. Getting into a periogue, I paddled 
off to a part of the Green River where there was sand and clay, 
that might serve for soap ; then taking off my dress, I scrubbed 
and scoured it, until I thought it looked very well. I then put 



EXPEKIENCES OF EALPH KIKGWOOD. 269 

it ou the eud of a stick, and hung it out of the periogue to dry, 
while I stretched myself very comfortably on the green bank of 
the river. Unluckily a flaw struck the periogue, and tipped over 
the stick : down went my dress to the bottom of the river, and I 
never saw it more. Here was I, left almost in a state of nature 
T managed to make a kind of Robinson Crusoe garb of undressed 
skins, with the hair on, which enabled me to get home with de- 
cency ; but my dream of gayety and fashion was at an end ; for 
how could I think of figuring in high life at the Pigeon-E,oost, 
equipped like a mere Orson ? 

" Old Miller, who really began to take some pride in me, was 
confounded when he understood that I did not intend to go to 
Bob Mosely's ; but when I told him my misfortune, and that I 
had no dress : ' By the powers,' cried he, ' but you shall go, 
and you shall be the best dressed and the best mounted lad there ! ' 
" He immediately set to work to cut out and make up a 
hunting-shirt, of dressed deer-skin, gaily fringed at the shoul- 
ders, and leggins of the same, fringed from hip to heel. He 
then made me a rakish raccoon- cap, with a flaunting tail to it; 
mounted me on his best horse ; and I may say, without vanity, 
that I was one of the smartest fellows that figured on that occa- 
sion, at the Pigeon-Boost Fork of the Muddy. 

" It was no small occasion, either, let me tell you. Bob 
Mosely's house was a tolerably large bark shanty, with a clap- 
board roof; and there were assembled all the young hunters and 
pretty girls of the CDuntry, for many a mile round. The young 
men were in their best hunting-dresses, but not one could com- 
pare with mine ; and my raccoon-cap, with its flowing tail, was 
the admiration of every body. The girls were mostly in doe- 



270 EXPEEIENCES OF EALPH KIKGWOOD. 

skin dresses; for there was no spinning and weaving as yet in 
the woods ; nor any need of it. I never saw girls that seemed 
to me better dressed ; and I was somewhat of a judge, having 
seen fashions at Ptichmond. We had a hearty dinner, and a 
merry one ; for there was Jemmy Kiel, famous for raccoon-hunt- 
ing, and Bob Tarleton, and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, 
and several other prime fellows for a frolic, that made all ring 
again, and laughed that you might have heard them a mile. 

" After dinner, we began dancing, and were hard at it, when, 
about three o'clock in the afternoon, there was a new arrival — 
the two daughters of old Simon Schultz ; two young ladies that 
affected fashion and late hours. Their arrival had nearly put an 
end to all our merriment. I must go a little round about in my 
story, to explain to you how that happened. 

" As old Schultz, the father, was one day looking in the cane- 
brakes for his cattle, he came upon the track of horses. He 
knew they were none of his, and that none of his neighbors had 
horses about that place. They must be stray horses ; or must be- 
long to some traveller who had lost his way, as the track led no- 
where. He accordingly followed it up, until he came to an unlucky 
peddler, with two or three packhorses, who had been bewildered 
among the cattle-tracks, and had wandered for two or three days 
among woods and canebrakes, until he was almost famished. 

*' Old Schultz brought him to his house ; fed him on veni- 
son, bear's meat, and hominy, and at the end of a week put him 
in prime condition. The peddler could not sufficiently express 
his thankfulness ; and when about to depart, inquired what he 
had to pay ? Old Schultz stepped back, with surprise. ' Stran- 
ger,' said he, 'you have been welcome under my roof. I've 



EXPEI^IKXCES OF EALPII KIKGWOOD. 271 

given jnu nothing but wild meat and hominy, because I had no 
better, but have been glad of your company. You are welcome 
to stay as long as j-ou please ; but by Zounds ! if any one offers 
to pay Simon Schultz for food, be affronts him !' So saying, he 
walked out in a huff. 

" The peddler admired the hospitality of his host, but could 
not reconcile it to his conscience to go away without making 
some recompense. There were honest Simon's two daughters, 
two strapping, red-haired girls. He opened his packs and dis- 
played riches before them of which they had no conception ; for 
in those days there were no country stores in those parts, with 
their artificial finery and trinketry ; and this was the first peddler 
that had wandered into that part of the wilderness. The girls 
were for a time completely dazzled, and knew not what to choose : 
but what caught their eyes most, were two looking-glasses, about 
the size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They had never seen the 
like before, having used no other mirror than a pail of water. 
The peddler presented them these jewels, without the least hesi- 
tation : nay, he gallantly hung them round their necks by red 
ribbons, almost as fine as the glasses themselves. This done, 
he took his departure, leaving them as much astonished as two 
princesses in a fairy tale, that have received a magic gift from 
an enchanter. 

" It was with these looking-glasses, hung round their necks 
as lockets, by red ribbons, that old Schultz's daughters made 
their appearance at three o'clock in the afternoon, at the frolic 
at Bob Mosely's on the Pigeon-Koost Fork of the Muddy. 

' By the powers, but it was an event ! Such a thing had 
never before been seen in Kentucky. Bob Tarleton, a strapping 



272 EXPEEIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 

fellow, with a head like a chestnut-burr, and a look like a boar in 
an apple orchard, stepped up, caught hold of the looking-glass 
of one of the girls, and gazing at it for a moment, cried out ; 
' Joe Taylor,, come here! come here! I'll be darn'd if Patty 
Schultz aint got a locket that you can see your face in, as clear 
as in a spring of water ! ' 

" In a twinkling all the young hunters gathered round old 
Schultz's daughters. I, who knew what looking-glasses were 
did not budge. Some of the girls who sat near me were exces- 
sively mortified at finding themselves thus deserted. I heard 
Peggy Pugh say to Sally Pigman, * Goodness knows, it's well 
Schultz's daughters is got them things round their necks, for 
it's the first time the young men crowded round them ! ' 

" I saw immediately the danger of the case. We were a 
small community, and could not afibrd to be split up by feuds. 
So I stepped up to the girls, and whispered to them : ' Polly,' 
said I, ' those lockets are powerful fine, and become you amaz- 
ingly ; but you don't consider that the country is not advanced 
enough in these parts for such things. You and I understand 
these matters, but these people don't. Fine things like these 
may do very well in the old settlements, but they won't answer 
at the Pigeon-Roost Pork of the Muddy. You had better lay 
them aside for the present, or we shall have no peace.' 

" Polly and her sister luckily saw their error ; they took oflf 
the lockets, laid them aside, and harmony was restored : other- 
wise, I verily believe there would have been an end of our com- 
munity. Indeed, notwithstanding the great sacrifice they made 
on this occasion, I do not think old Schultz's daughters were ever 
much liked afterwards among the young women. 



EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EINGWOOD. 273 

" This was the first time that looking-glasses were ever seen 
in the Green River part of Kentucky. 

" I had now lived some time with old Miller, and had become 
a tolerably expert hunter. G-ame, however, began to grow scarce. 
The buffalo had gathered together, as if by universal understand- 
ng, and had crossed the Mississippi never to return. Strangers 
kept pouring into the country, clearing away the forests, and 
building in all directions. The hunters began to grow restive. 
Jemmy Kiel, the same of whom I have already vspoken, for hia 
skill in raccoon catching, came to me one day : ' I can't stand 
this any longer.' said he ; * we're getting too thick here. Simon 
Schultz crowds me so, that I have no comfort of my life.' 

" ' Why, how you talk ! ' said I ; * Simon Schultz lives twelve 
miles off.' 

" ' No matter ; his cattle run with mine, and I've no idea of 
living where another man's cattle- can run with mine. That's too 
close neighborhood; I want elbow-room. This country, too, is 
growing too poor to live in ; there's no game : so two or three of 
us have made up our minds to follow the buffalo to the Missouri, 
and we should like to have you of the party.' Other hunters of 
my acquaintance talked in the same manner. This set me think- 
ing : but the more I thought, the more I was perplexed. I had 
no one to advise with : old Miller and his associates knew of but 
one mode of life, and I had no experience in any other : but I had 
a wider scope of thought. When out hunting alone, I used to 
forget the sport, and sit for hours together on the trunk of a tree, 
with rifle in hand, buried in thought, and debating with myself ; 
* Shall I go with Jemmy Kiel and his company, or shall I remain 
here ? If I remain here, there will soon be nothing left to hunt. 

12* 



274 EXPEEiENCES OF KAtPH EIKGWOODI 

But am I to be a hunter all my life ? Have not I something 
more in me, than to be carrying a rifle on my shoulder, day after 
day, and dodging about after bears, and deer, and other brute 
beasts ? ' My vanity told me I had ; and I called to mind my 
boyish boast to my sister, that I would never return home, until 
I returned a member of Congress from Kentucky ; but was this 
the way to fit myself for such a station ? 

" Various plans passed through my mind, but they were aban- 
doned almost as soon as formed. At length I determined on be- 
coming a lawyer. True it is, I knew almost nothing. I had left 
school before I had learnt beyond the 'rule of three.' 'Never 
mind,' said I to myself, resolutely ; ' I am a terrible fellow for 
hanging on to any thing, when I've once made up my mind ; and 
if a man has but ordinary capacity, and will set to work with 
heart and soul, and stick to it, he can do almost any thing.' With 
this maxim, which has been pretty much my main stay thi'ough- 
out life, I fortified myself in my determination to attempt the 
law. But how was I to set about it ? I must quit this forest 
life, and go to one or other of the towns, where I might be able 
to study, and to attend the courts. This too required funds. I 
examined into the state of my finances. The purse given me by 
my father had remained untouched, in the bottom of an old chest 
up in the loft, for money was scarcely needed in these parts. I 
had bargained away the skins acquired in hunting, for a horse and 
various other matters, on which, in case of need, I could raise 
funds. I therefore thought I could make shift to maintain myself 
until I was fitted for the bar. 

" I informed my worthy host and patron, old Miller, of my 
plan. He shook his head at my turning my back upon the 



EXPEKIENCES OF RALPH KINGWOOD. 2Y5 

\^ oods, when I was in a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; 
but he made no effort to dissuade me. I accordinglj set off in 
September, on horseback, intending to visit Lexington, Frank- 
fort, and other of the principal towns, in search of a favorable 
place to prosecute my studies. My choice was made sooner than 
1 expected. I had put up one night at Bardstown, and found, 
on inquiry that I could get comfortable board and accommoda- 
tion in a private family for a dollar and a half a week. I liked 
the place, and resolved to look no farther. So the next morn- 
ing I prepared to turn my face homeward, and take my final 
leave of forest life. 

" I had taken my breakfast, and was waiting for my horse, 
when, in pacing up and down the piazza, I saw a young girl 
seated near a window, evidently a visitor. She was very pretty ; 
with auburn hair, and blue eyes, and was dressed in white. I 
had seen nothing of the kind since I had left Richmond ; and at 
that time I was too much of a boy to be much struck by female 
charms. She was so delicate and dainty-looking, so different 
from the hale, buxom, brown girls of the woods ; and then her 
white dress ! — it was perfectly dazzling ! Never was poor youth 
more taken by surprise, and suddenly bewitched. My heart 
yearned to know her ; but how was I to accost her ? I had 
grown wild in the woods, and had none of the habitudes of polite 
life. Had she been like Peggy Pugh, or Sally Pigman, or any 
other of my leathern-dressed belles of the Pigeon-Roost, I should 
have approached her without dread ; nay, had she been as fair 
as Schultz's daughters, with their looking-glass lockets, I should 
not have hesitated : but that white dress, and those auburn ring- 
lets, and blue eyes, and delicate looks, quite daunted, while they 



276 EXPERIENCES OF EALPH EIKG"W'OOD. 

fascinated me. I don't know what put it into my head, but 1 
thought, all at once, that I would kiss her ! It would take a 
long acquaintance to arrive at such a boon, but I might seize 
upon it by sheer robbery. Nobody knew me here. I would 
just step in, snatch a kiss, mount my horse, and ride off. She 
would not be the worse for it ; and that kiss — oh ! I should die 
if I did not get it ! 

" I gave no time for the thought to cool, but entered the 
house, and stepped lightly into the room. She was seated with 
her back to the door, lookiug out at the window, and did not 
hear iny approach. I tapped her chair, and as she turned and 
looked up, I snatched as sweet a kiss as ever was stolen, and 
vanished in a twinkling. The next moment I was on horseback, 
galloping homeward ; my very ears tingling at what I had done. 

" On my return home, I sold my horse, and turned every 
thing to cash, and found, with the remains of the paternal 
purse, that I had nearly four hundred dollars ; a little capital, 
which I resolved to manage with the strictest economy. 

" It was hard parting with old Miller, who had been like a 
father to me : it cost me, too, something of a struggle to give up 
the free, independent wild-wood life I had hitherto led ; but 1 
had marked out my course, and have never been one to flinch or 
turn back. 

" I footed it sturdily to Bardstown ; took possession of the 
quarters for which I had bargained, shut myself up, and set to 
work with might and main, to study. But what a task I had 
before me ! I had every thing to learn ; not merely law, but all 
the elementary branches of knowledge. I read and read, for 
sixteen hours out of the four-and-twenty ; but the more I read, 



EXPERIENCES OF KALPH KINGWOOD. 277 

the more I became aware of my own ignorance, and shed bitter 
tears over my deficiency. It seemed as if the wilderness of know- 
ledge expanded and grew more perplexed as I advanced. Every 
height gained, only revealed a wider region to be traversed, and 
nearly filled me with despair. I grew moody, silent, and unso- 
ial, but studied on doggedly and incessantly. The only person 
vrith whom I held any conversation, was the worthy man in 
whose house I was quartered. He was honest and well-meaning, 
but perfectly ignorant, and I believe would have liked me much 
better, if I had not been so much addicted to reading. He con- 
sidered all books filled with lies and impositions, and seldom 
could look into one, without finding something to rouse his 
spleen. Nothing put him into a greater passion, than the asser- 
tion that the world turned on its own axis every four-and-twenty 
hours. He swore it was an outrage upon common sense. ' Why, 
if it did,' said he, ' there would not be a drop of water in the 
well, by morning, and all the milk and cream in the dairy would 
be Lurned topsy-turvy ! ' And then to talk of the earth going 
round the sun ! ' How do they know it ? I've seen the sun 
rise every morning, and set every evening for more than thirty 
years. They must not talk to one about the earth's going round 
the sun ! ' 

" At another time he was in a perfect fret at being told the 
distance between the sun and moon. * How can any one tell the 
distance ?' cried he. ' Who surveyed it ? who carried the chain? 
By Jupiter ! they only talk this way before me to annoy me. 
But then there's some people of sense who give in to this cursed 
humbug ! There's Judge Broadnax, now, one of the best law- 
yers we have ; isn't it surprising he should believe in such stuff; 



278 EXPEKiEHCES OF EAtPH KmGWOOI). 

Why, sir, the other day I heard him talk of the distance from a 
star he called Mars to the sun ! He must have got it out of ona 
or other of those confounded hooks he's so fond of reading ; a 
book some impudent fellow has written, who knew nobody could 
swear the distance was more or less.' 

" For my own part, feeling my own deficiency in scientific 
lore, I never ventured to unsettle his conviction that the sun 
made his daily circuit round the earth ; and for aught I said to 
the contrary, he lived and died in that belief. 

I had been about a year at Bardstown, living thus stu- 
diously and reclusely, when, as I was one day walking the street, 
I met two young girls, in one of whom I immediately recalled 
the little beauty whom I had kissed so impudently. She blushed 
up to the eyes, and so did I ; but we both passed on without far- 
ther sign of recognition. This second glimpse of her, however, 
caused an odd fluttering about my heart. I could not get her 
out of my thoughts for days. She quite interfered with my 
studies. I tried to think of her as a mere child, but it would 
not do : she had improved in beauty, and was tending toward 
womanhood; and then I myself was but little better than a 
stripling. However, I did not attempt to seek after her, or even 
to find out who she was, but returned doggedly to my books. 
By degrees she faded from my thoughts, or if she did cross them 
occasionally, it was only to increase my despondency ; for I 
feared that with all my exertions, I should never be able to fit 
myself for the bar, or enable myself to support a wife. 

" One cold stormy evening I was seated, in dumpish mood, 
in the bar-room of the inn, looking into the fire, and turning 
over uncomfortable thoughts, when I was accosted by some one 



EXPEXJIElSrCES OF' RALPH KlXGWOOD. 2^9 

who had entered the room without my perceiving it, I looked 
up, and saw before me a tall and, as I thought, pompous-looking 
man, arrayed in small-clothes and knee-buckles, with powdered 
head, and shoes nicely blacked and polished ; a style of dresa 
unparalleled in those days, in that rough country. I took a 
pique against him from the very portliness of his appearance, and 
stateliness of his manner, and bristled up as he accosted me. 
He demanded if my name was not Ringwood. 

"I was startled, for I supposed myself perfectly incog. ; but 
I answered in the affirmative. 

" ' Your family, I believe, lives in Richmond.' 

" My gorge began to rise. ' Yes, sir,' replied I, sulkily, 
my family does live in Richmond.' 

" ' And what, may I ask, has brought you into this part of 
the country ?' 

" ' Zounds, sir ! ' cried I, starting on my feet, ' what business 
is it of yours ? How dare you to question me in this manner ? ' 

" The entrance of some persons prevented a reply ; but I 
walked up and down the bar-room, fuming with conscious inde 
pendence and insulted dignity, while the pompous-looking per- 
sonage, who had thus trespassed upon my spleen, retired without 
proffering another word. 

" The next day, while seated in my room, some one tapped 
at the door, and, on being bid to enter, the stranger in the pow- 
dered head, small-clothes, and shining shoes and buckles, walked 
in with ceremonious courtesy 

" My boyish pride was again in arms ; but he subdued me. 
He was formal, but kind and friendly. He knew my family 
and understood my situation, and the dogged struggle I was 



280 EXPEEIENCES OF RALPH EINGWOOD, 

making. A little conversation, when my jealous pride was oncft 
put to rest, drew every thing from me. He was a lawyer of ex- 
perience, and of extensive practice, and offered at once to take 
me with him, and direct my studies. The offer was too advan- 
tageous and gratifying not to be immediately accepted. From 
hat time I began to look up. I was put into a proper track, 
and was enabled to study to a proper purpose. I made ac- 
quaintance, too, with some of the young men of the place, who 
were in the same pursuit, and was encouraged at finding that I 
could ' hold my own ' in argument with them. We instituted a 
debating club, in which I soon became prominent and popular. 
Men of talents, engaged in other pursuits, joined it, and this 
diversified our subjects, and put me on various tracks of inquiry. 
Ladies, too, attended some of our discussions, and this gave 
them a polite tone, and had an influence on the manners of the 
debaters. My legal patron also may have had a favorable effect 
in correcting any roughness contracted in my hunter's life. He 
was calculated to bend me in an opposite direction, for he was of 
the old school ; quoted Chesterfield on all occasions, and talked 
of Sir Charles G-randison, who was his beau-ideal. It was Sir 
Charles Grandison, however, Kentuckyized. 

" I had always been fond of female society. My experience, 
however, had hitherto been among the rough daughters ofthe back- 
woodsmen ; and I felt an awe of young ladies in ' store clothes,' 
and delicately brought up. Two or three of the married ladies 
of Bardstown, who had heard me at the debating club, deter- 
mined that I was a genius, and undertook to bring me out 
I believe I really improved under their hands; became quiet where 
T had been shy or sulky, and easy where I had been impudent, 



EXPERIENCES OF EALril KINGWOOD. 281 

I called to take tea one evening with one of these ladiep. 
when to my surprise, and somewhat to my confusion, I found 
with her the identical blue-eyed little beauty whom I had so 
audaciously kissed. I was formally introduced to her, but 
neither of us betrayed any sign of previous acquaintance, except 
by blushing to the eyes. While tea was getting ready, the lady 
of the house went out of the room to give some directions, and 
left us alone. 

" Heavens and earth, what a situation ! I would have given 
all the pittance I was worth, to have been in the deepest dell of 
the forest. I felt the necessity of saying something in excuse 
of my former rudeness, but I could not conjure up an idea, nor 
utter a word. Every moment matters were growing worse I 
felt at one time tempted to do as I had done when I robbed her 
of the kiss : bolt from the room, and take to flight ; but I was 
chained to the spot, for I really longed to gain her good will. 

" At length I plucked up courage, on seeing that she was 
equally confused with myself, and walking desperately up to her, 
I exclaimed : 

• " ' I have been trying to muster up something to say to you, 
but I cannot. I feel that I am in a horrible scrape. Do have 
pity on me, and help me out of it ! ' 

" A smile dimpled about her mouth, and played among the 
blushes of her cheek. She looked up with a shy but arch glance 
of the eye, that expressed a volume of comic recollection ; we 
both broke into a laugh, and from that moment all went on well. 

" A few evenings afterward, I met her at a dance, and prose- 
cuted the acquaintance. I soon became deeply attached to her j 
paid my court regularly ; and before I was nineteen years of 



282 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 



age, had engaged myself to marry her. I spoke to her mother 
a widow lady, to ask her consent. She seemed to demur ; upon 
which, with my customary haste, I told her there would be do 
use in opposing the match, for if her daughter chose to have me, 
I would take her, in defiance of her family, and the whole world. 

" She laughed, and told me I need not give myself any unea- 
siness ; there would be no unreasonable opposition. She knew 
my family, and all about me. The only obstacle was, that I had 
no means of supporting a wife, and she had nothing to give with 
her daughter. 

" No matter ; at that moment every thing was bright before 
me. I was in one of my sanguine moods. I feared nothing, 
doubted nothing. So it was agreed that I should prosecute my 
studies, obtain a license, and as soon as I should be fairly 
launched in business, we would be married. 

" I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled ardor, and was 
up to my ears in law, when I received a letter from my father, 
who had heard of me and my whereabouts. He applauded the 
course I had taken, but advised me to lay a foundation of general 
knowledge, and offered to defray my expenses, if I would go to 
college. I felt the want of a general education, and was staggered 
with this offer. It militated somewhat against the self-dependent 
course I had so proudly, or rather conceitedly, marked out for 
myself, but it would enable me to enter more advantageously upon 
my legal career. I talked over the matter with the lovely girl to 
whom I was engaged. She sided in opinion with my father, and 
talked so disinterestedly, yet tenderly, that if possible, I loved her 
more than ever. I reluctantly, therefore, agreed to go to college 
for a couple of years, though it must necessarily postpone our union. 



EXPERIENCES OF EALPII EINGWOOD. 283 

" Scarcely had I formed this resolution, when her mother was 
taken ill, and died, leaving her without a protector. This again 
altered all my plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I gave up 
all idea of collegiate studies ; persuaded myself that by dint of 
industry and application I might overcome the deficiencies of 
education, and resolved to take out a license as soon as possible. 

" That very autumn I was admitted to the bar, and within a 
month afterward, was married. We were a young couple; she 
not much above sixteen, I not quite twenty; and both almost with- 
out a dollar in the world. The establishment which we set up was 
suited to our circumstances-: a log-house, with two small rooms ; 
a bed, a table, a half dozen chairs, a half dozen knives and forks, 
a half dozen spoons ; every thing by half dozens ; a little delft 
ware ; every thing in a small way : we were so poor, but then so 
happy ! 

" We had not been married many days, when court was held 
at a county town, about twenty-five miles distant. It was neces- 
sary for me to go there, and put myself in the way of business : 
but how was I to go ? I had expended all my means on our 
establishment ; and then, it was hard parting with my wife so 
soon after marriage. However, go I must. Money must be made, 
or we should soon have the wolf at the door. I accordingly bor- 
rowed a horse, and borrowed a little cash, and rode off from my 
door, leaving my wife standing at it, and waving her hand after 
me. Her last look, so sweet and beaming, went to my heart. I 
felt as if I could go through fire and water for her. 

" I arrived at the county town, on a cool October evening. 
The inn was crowded, for the court was to commence on the fol- 
lowing day. I knew no one, and wondered how I, a stranger, an 



284 EXPEKIENCES OF KALPH EINGWOOD. 

a mere youngster, was to make my way in such a crowd, and to 
get business. The public room was thronged with the idlers of 
the country, who gather together on such occasions. There waa 
some drinking going forward, with much noise, and a little alter- 
cation. Just as I entered the room, I saw a rough bully of a fel- 
low, who was partly intoxicated, strike an old man. He came 
swaggering by me, and elbowed me as he passed. I immediately 
knocked him down, and kicked him into the street. I needed no 
better introduction. In a moment I had a dozen rough shakes 
of the hand, and invitations to drink, and found myself quite a 
personage in this rough assembly. 

" The nest morning the court opened. ' I took my seat among 
the lawyers, but felt as a mere spectator, not having a suit in pro- 
gress or prospect, nor having any idea where business was to come 
from. In the course of the morning, a man was put at the bar 
charged with passing counterfeit money, and was asked if he was 
ready for trial. He answered in the negative. He had been 
confined in a place where there were no lawyers, and had not had 
an opportunity of consulting any. He was told to choose coun- 
sel from the lawyers present, and to be ready for trial on the follow- 
ing day. He looked round the court, and selected me. I was 
thunderstruck. I could not tell why he should make such a 
choice. I, a beardless youngster ; unpractised at the bar ; per- 
fectly unknown. I felt diffident yet delighted, and could have 
hugged the rascal. 

'' Before leaving the court, he gave me one hundred dollars 
in a bag. as a retaining fee. I could scarcely believe my senses ; 
it seemed like a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke but 
lightly in favor of his innocence, but that was no affair of mine. 



EXPERIENCES OF RALPH EmGWOOD. 285 

I was to be advocate, not judge, nor jury. I followed him to 
jail, and learned from bim all tbe particulars of bis case : 
tbence I went to tbe clerk's office, and took minutes of tbe in- 
dictment. I tben examined tbe law on tbe subject, and pre- 
pared my brief in my room. All tbis occupied me until mid- 
nigbt, wben I went to bed, and tried to sleep. It was all in 
vain. Never in my life was I more wide awake. A bost of 
tbougbts and fancies kept rusbing tbrougb my mind : tbe sbower 
of gold tbat bad so unexpectedly fallen into my lap ; tbe idea 
of my poor little wife at borne, tbat I was to astonisb witb my 
good fortune ! But tben tlie awful responsibility I had under- 
taken ! — to speak for tbe first time in a strange court ; tbe ex- 
pectations tbe culprit bad evidently formed of my talents; all 
these, and a crowd of similar notions, kept whirling tbrougb my 
mind. I tossed about all night, fearing the morning would find 
me exhausted and incompetent ; in a word, the day dawned on 
me, a miserable fellow ! 

" I got up feverish and nervous. I walked out before break- 
fast, striving to collect my tbougbts, and tranquillize my feelings. 
It was a bright morning ; the air was pure and frosty. I bathed 
my forehead and my bands in a beautiful running stream; but I 
could not allay the fever beat that raged within. I returned to 
breakfast, but could not eat. A single cup of coffee formed my 
repast. It was time to go to court, and I went there with a 
throbbing heart. I believe if it had not been for tbe tbougbts 
of my little wife, in her lonely log-house I should have given 
back to the man bis hundred dollars, and relinquished tbe cause. 
I took my seat, looking, I am convinced, more like a culprit than 
the ro^ue I was to defend. 



286 EXPEEIENGES OF KALPH EINGWOOD. 

" When the time came for me to speak, my heart died within 
me. I rose embarrassed and dismayed, and stammered in open- 
ing my cause I went on from bad to worse, and felt as if I was 
going down hill. Just then the public prosecutor, a man of tal 
ents, but somewhat rough in his practice, made a sarcastic re- 
mark on something I had said. It was like an electric spark, 
and ran tingling through every vein in my body. In an instant 
my diffidence was gone. My whole spirit was in arms. I an- 
swered with promptness and bitterness, for I felt the cruelty of 
such an attack upon a novice in my situation. The public prose- 
cutor made a kind of apology ; this, from a man of his redoubted 
powers, was a vast concession. I renewed my argument with a 
fearless glow ; carried the case through triumphantly, and the 
man was acquitted. 

" This was the making of me. Every body was curious to 
know who this new lawyer was, that had thus suddenly risen among 
them, and bearded the attorney-general at the very outset. The 
story of my debut at the inn, on the preceding evening, when I 
had knocked down a bully, and kicked him out of doors, for 
striking an old man, was circulated, with favorable exaggerations. 
Even my very beardless chin and juvenile countenance were in my 
favor, for people gave me far more credit than I really deserved. 
The chance business which occurs in our country courts camo 
thronging u.pon me. I was repeatedly employed in other causes ; 
and by Saturday night, when the court closed, and I had paid my 
bill at the inn, I found myself with a hundred and fifty dollars 
in silver, three hundred dollars in notes, and a borse that I after- 
ward sold for two hundred dollars more. 

" Never did miser gloat on his money with more delight. I 



EXPEKIENCES OF EALPH KINGWOOD. 287 

locked the door of my room ; piled the money In a heap upon the 
table ; walked round it ; sat with my elbows on the table, and my 
chin upon my hands, and gazed upon it. Was I thinking of the 
money ? No ! I was thinking of my little wife at home. 
Another sleepless night ensued ; but what a night of golden fan- 
cies, and splendid air castles ! As soon as morning dawned, I 
was up, mounted the borrowed horse with which I had come to 
court, and led the other, which I had received as a fee. All the 
way I was delighting myself with the thoughts of the surprise I 
had in store for my little wife; for both of us had expected 
nothing but that I should spend all the money I had borrowed, 
and should return in debt, 

" Our meeting was joyous, as you may suppose : but I played 
the part of the Indian hunter, who, when he returns from the 
chase, never for a time speaks of his success. She had prepared 
a snug little rustic meal for me, and while it was getting ready, I 
seated myself at an old-fashioned desk in one corner, and began 
to count over my money, and put it away. She came to me 
before I had finished, and asked who I had collected the money 
for. 

" ' For myself, to be sure,' replied T, with affected coolness ; 
' I made it at coart.' 

"She looked me for a moment in the face, incredulously. 
I tried to keep my countenance, and to play Indian, but it would 
Dot do. My muscles began to twitch ; my feelings all at once 
gave way, I caught her in my arms ; laughed, cried, and danced 
about the room, like a crazy man. From that time forward, we 
never wanted for money, 

'*! had not been long in successful practice, when I was sur 



28S EXPERIENCES OF KALPH EINGWOOD. 

prised one day by a visit from my woodland patron, old Miller. 
The tidings of my prosperity had reached him in the wilderness 
and he had walked one hundred and fifty miles on foot to see me 
By that time I had improved my domestic establishment, and had 
all things comfortable about me. He looked around him with a 
wondering eye, at what he considered luxuries and superfluities ; 
but supposed they were all right, in my altered circumstances. 
He said he did not know, upon the whole, but that I had acted 
for the best. It is true, if game had continued plenty, it would 
have been a folly for me to quit a hunter's life ; but hunting was 
pretty nigh done up in Kentucky. The buffalo had gone to Mis- 
souri ; the elk were nearly gone also ; deer, too, were growing 
scarce ; they might last out his time, as he was growing old, but 
they were not worth setting up life upon. He had once lived on 
the borders of Virginia. Game grew scai'ce there ; he followed 
it up across Kentucky, and now it was again giving him the slip ; 
but he was too old to follow it farther. 

" He remained with us three days. My wife did every thing 
in her power to make him comfortable ; but at the end of that 
time, he said he must be off again to the woods. He was tired 
of the village, and of having so many people about him. He ac- 
cordingly returned to the wilderness, and to hunting life. But I 
fear he did not make a good end of it ; for I understand that a 
few years before his death, he married Sukey Thomas, who lived 
at the White Oak Run." 



THE SEMINOLES. 

From the time of tlie chimerical cruisings of Old Ponce de Leon in 
search of the Fountain of Youth ; the avaricious expedition of 
Pamphilo de Narvaez in quest of gold ; and the chivalrous enter- 
prise of Hernando de Soto, to discover and conquer a second Mexi- 
co, the natives of Florida have been continually subjected to the in- 
vasions and encroachments of white men. They have resisted them 
perseveringly but fruitlessly, and are now battling amidst swamps 
and morasses, for the last foothold of their native soil, with all 
the ferocity of despair. Can we wonder at the bitterness of a 
hostility that has been handed down from father to son, for up- 
ward of three centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs and mis- 
eries of each succeeding generation ! The very name of the 
savages with whom we are fighting, betokens their fallen and 
homeless condition. Formed of the wrecks of once powerful 
tribes, and driven from their ancient seats of prosperity and do- 
minion, they are known by the name of the Seminoles, or " Wan- 
derers." 

Bartram, who travelled through Florida in the latter part of 
the last century, speaks of passing through a great extent of 
13 



290 THE SEMINOLES. 

ancient Indian fields, now silent and deserted, overgrown with 
forests, orange groves, and rank vegetation, the site of the ancient 
Alachua, the capital of a famous and powerful tribe, who in days 
of old could assemble thousands at bull-play and other athletic 
exercises " over these then happy fields and green plains," " Al- 
most every step we take," adds he, " over these fertile heights, dis- 
covers the remains and traces of ancient human habitations and 
cultivation." 

We are told that about the year 1763, when Florida was ced- 
ed by the Spaniards to the English, the Indians generally re- 
tired from the towns and the neighborhood of the whites, and 
burying themsalves in the deep forests, intricate swamps and 
hommocks, and vast savannahs of the interior, devoted themselves 
to a pastoral life, and the rearing of horses and cattle. These 
are the people that received the name of the Seminoles, or Wan- 
derers, which they still retain. 

Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at the time he visit- 
ed them in their wilderness ; where their distance from the 
abodes of the white man gave them a transient quiet and security. 
" This handful of people," says he, " possesses a vast territory, 
all East and the greatest part of West Florida, which being natu- 
rally cut and divided into thousands of islets, knolls, and eminen- 
ces, by the innumerable rivers, lakes, swamps, vast savannahs, 
and ponds, form so many secure retreats and temporary dwelling- 
places that effectually guard them from any sudden invasions or 
attacks from their enemies ; and being such a swampy, hommocky 
country, furnishes such a plenty and variety of supplies for the 
nourishment of varieties of animals, that I can venture to assert, 
that no part of the globe so abounds with wild game, or creatures 
tit for the food of man. 



THE SEMINOLES. 291 

" Tlius they enjoy a superabundance of the necessaries and 
conveniences of life, with the security of person and property, 
tlie two great concerns of mankind. The hides of deer, beai-s, 
tigers, and wolves, together with honey, wax, and other produc- 
tions of the country, purchase their clothing equipage, and domes- 
tic uteusils from the whites. They seem to be free from want or 
desires. No cruel enemy to dread ; nothing to give them dis- 
quietude, hut the gradual encroachments of the white people. 
Thus contented and undisturbed, they appear as blithe and free as 
the birds of the air, and like them as volatile and active, tuneful 
and vociferous. The visage, action, and deportment of the Semi- 
noles form the most striking picture of happiness in this life ; 
joy, contentment, love, and friendship, without guile or affecta- 
tion, seem inherent in them, or predominant in their vital princi- 
ple, for it leaves them with but the last breath of life. . . . They 
are fond of games and gambling, and amuse themselves like 
children, in relating estravagant stories, to cause surprise and 
mirth."* 

The same writer gives an engaging picture of his treatment 
by these savages : 

" Soon after entering the forests, we were met in the path by 
a small company of Indians, smiling and beckoning to us long 
before we joined them. This was a family of Talahasochte, who 
had been out on a hunt and were returning home loaded with 
barbacued meat, hides, and honey. Their company consisted of 
the man, his wife and children, well mounted on fine horses, with a 
Qumber of pack-horses. The man offered us a fawn skin of honey, 

• Bartram's Travels iu North America. 



292 



THE SEMINOLES. 



wliich I accepted, and at parting presented him with some fish- 
hooks, sewing-needles, etc. 

" On our return to camp in the evening, we were saluted by a 
party of young Indian warriors, who had pitched their tents on a 
green eminence near the lake, at a small distance from our camp 
under a little grove of oaks and palms. This company consisted 
of seven young Seminoles, under the conduct of a young prince 
or chief of Talahasochte, a town southward in the Isthmus. 
They were all dressed and painted with singular elegance, and 
richly ornamented with silver plates, chains, etc., after the Semi- 
nole mode, with waving plumes of feathers on their crests. On 
our coming up to them, they arose and shook hands ; we alight- 
ed and sat a while with them by their cheerful fire. 

" The young prince informed our chief that he was in pursuit 
of a young fellow who had fled from the town, carrying oif with 
him one of his favorite young wives. He said, merrily, he would 
have the ears of both of them before he returned. He was rather 
above the middle stature, and the most perfect human figure I 
ever saw ; of an amiable, engaging countenance, air, and deport- 
ment ; free and familiar in conversation, yet retaining a becom- 
ing gracefulness and dignity. "We arose, took leave of them, and 
crossed a little vale, covered with a charming green turf, already 
illuminated by the soft light of the full moon. 

" Soon after joining our companions at camp, our neighbors, 
the prince and his associates, paid us a visit. We treated them 
with the best fare we had, having till this time preserved our 
spirituous liquors. They left us with perfect cordiality and cheer- 
fulness, wishing us a good repose, and retired to their own camp. 
Having a band of music with them, consisting of a drum, flutes. 



THE SEMINOLES. 293 

and a rattle-gourd, they entertained us during the night with 
their music, vocal and instrumental. 

" There is a languishing softness and melancholy air iu the In- 
dian convivial songs, especially of the amorous class, irresistibly 
moving attention, and exquisitely pleasing, especially in their 
solitary recesses, when all nature is silent." 

Travellers who have been among them, in more recent times, 
before they had embarked in their present desperate struggle, 
represent them in much the same light ; as leading a pleasant, 
indolent life, in a climate that required little shelter or clothing, 
and where the spontaneous fruits of the earth furnished subsist- 
ence without toil. A cleanly race, delighting in bathing, pass- 
ing much of their time under the shade of their trees, with heaps 
of oranges and other fine fruits for their refreshment ; talking, 
laughing, dancing and sleeping. Every chief had a fan hanging 
to his side, made of feathers of the wild turkey, the beautiful 
pink-colored crane, or the scarlet flamingo. With this he would 
sit and fan himself with great stateliness, while the young peo- 
ple danced before him. The women joined in the dances with 
the men, excepting the war-dances. They wore strings of tor- 
toise-shells and pebbles round their legs, which rattled in ca- 
dence to the music. They were treated with more attention 
among the Seminoles than among most Indian tribes. 



294 THE SEMINOLES. 



ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE BLACK MEN, 

A SEMINOLE TEADITIOK. 

When the Floridas were erected into a territory of the Uni- 
ted States, one of the earliest cares of the Governor, William 
P. Duval, was directed to the instruction and civilization of 
the natives. For this purpose he called a meeting of the chiefs, 
in which he informed them of the wish of their Great Father at 
Washington that they should have schools and teachers among 
them, and that their children should be instructed like the chil- 
dren of white men. The chiefs listened with their customary 
silence and decorum to a long speech, setting forth the advanta- 
ges that would accrue to them from this measure, and when he 
had concluded, begged the interval of a day to deliberate on it. 

On the following day, a solemn convocation was held, at 
which one of the chiefs addressed the governor in the name of 
all the rest. " My brother," said he, " we have been thinking 
over the proposition of our Great Father at Washington, to 
send teachers and set up schools among us. We are very thank- 
ful for the interest he takes in our welfare ; but after much de 
liberation, have concluded to decline his offer. What will do 
very well for white men, will not do for red men. I know you 
white men say we all come from the same father and mother, but 
you are mistaken. We have a tradition handed down from our 
forefathers, and we believe it, that the Great Spirit, when he un- 
dertook to make men, made the black man ; it was his first at- 
tempt, and pretty well for a beginning ; but he soon saw he ha 



WHITE, k!:d, and ulack men. 295 

"bungled ; so he determined to try his hand again. He did so, 
and made the red man. He liked him much better than the 
black man, but still he was not exactly what he wanted. So he 
tried once more, and made the white man ; and then he was sat- 
isfied. You see, therefore, that you were made last, and that is 
the reason I call you my youngest brother. 

" When the Great Spirit had made the three men, he called 
them together and showed them three boxes. The first was 
filled with books, and maps, and papers ; the second with bows 
and arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third with spades, axes, 
hoes, and hammers. ' These, my sons,' said he,^' are the means 
by which you are to live ; choose among them according to your 
fancy.' 

" The white man, being the favorite, had the first choice. 
He passed by the box of working-tools without notice ; but when 
he came to the weapons for war and hunting, he stopped and 
looked hard at them. The red man trembled, for he had set his 
heart upon that box. The white man, however, after looking 
upon it for a moment, passed on, and chose the box of books and 
papers. The red man's turn came next ; and you may be sure 
he seized with joy upon the bows and arrows, and tomahawks. 
As to the black man, he had no choice left, but to put up with 
the box of tools. 

" From this it is clear that the Great Spirit intended the 
white man should learn to read and write ; to understand all 
about the moon and stars ; and to make every thing, even rum 
and whiskey. That the red man should be a first-rate hunter, 
and a mighty warrior, but he was not to learn any thing from 
books, as the Great Spirit had not given him any : nor was he to 



296 * THE SEMINOLES. 

make rum and whiskey, lest he should kill himself with drink- 
ing. As to the black man, as he had nothing but working-tools^ 
it was clear he was to work for the white and red man, which he 
has continued to do. 

" We must go according to the wishes of the G-reat Spirit, 
r wc shall get into trouble. To know how to read and write, 
is very good for white men, but very bad for red men. It makes 
white men better, but red men worse. Some of the Creeks and 
Cherokees learnt to read and write, and they are the greatest ras- 
cals among all the Indians. They went on to Washington, and 
said they were gging to see their Great Father, to talk about the 
good of the nation. And when they got there, they all wrote 
upon a little piece of paper, without the nation at home know- 
ing any thing about it. And the first thing the nation at home 
knew of the matter, they were called together by the Indian 
agent, who showed them a little piece of paper, which he told 
them was a treaty, which, their brethren had made in their name, 
with their G-reat Father at Washington. And as they knew not 
what a treaty was, he held up the little piece of paper, and they 
looked under it, and lo ! it covered a great extent of country, 
and they found that their brethren, by knowing how to read and 
write, had sold their houses, and their lands, and the graves of 
their fathers ; and that the white man, by knowing how to read 
and write, had gained them. Tell our Great Father at Wash- 
ington, therefore, that wc are very sorry we cannot receive teach- 
ers among us ; for reading and writing, though very good for 
white men, is very bad for Indians." 



CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 297 



THE OONSPIRAOY OF NEAMATHLA. 

AN AITTHENTIC SKETCH. 

In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and other commis- 
sioners on the part of the United States, concluded a treaty with 
the chiefs and warriors of the Florida Indians, by which the lat- 
ter, for certain considerations, ceded all claims to the whole ter- 
ritory, excepting a district in the eastern part, to which they* 
were to remove, and within which they were to reside for twenty 
years. Several of the chiefs signed the treaty with great reluc- 
tance ; but none opposed it more strongly than Neamathla, prin- 
cipal chief of the Mickasookies, a fierce and warlike people, 
many of them Creeks by origin, who lived about the Mickasookie 
lake. Neamathla had always been active in those depredations 
on the frontiers of Georgia, which had brought vengeance and 
ruin on the Seminoles. He was a remarkable man ; upward of 
sixty years of age, about six feet high, with a fine eye, and a 
strongly-marked countenance, over which he possessed great 
command. His hatred of the white men appeared to be mixed 
with contempt : on the common people he looked down with infi- 
nite scorn. He seemed unwilling to acknowledge any superiority 
of rank or dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to associate with 
him on terms of equality, as two great chieftains. Though he 
liad been prevailed upon to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at 
it. In one of his frank conversations with Governor Duval, he 
observed : " This country belongs to the red man ; and if I had 
the number of warriors at my command that this nation onco 
la* 



298 THE SEMINOLES. 

had, 1 would uot loave a white man on my lands. I would ex- 
terminate the whole. I can say this to you, for you can under- 
stand me : you are a man ; but I would not say it to your peo- 
ple. They'd cry out I was a savage, and would take my life. 
They cannot appreciate the feelings of a man that loves his 
country." 

As Florida had but recently been erected into a territory, 
every thing as yet was in rude and simple style. The Governor, 
to make himself acquainted with the Indians, and to be near at 
-hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed his residence at Tallahassee, 
near the Fowel towns, inhabited by the Mickasookies. His gov- 
ernment palace for a time was a mere log-house, and he lived on 
hunters' fare. The village of Neamathla was but about three 
miles off, and thither the governor occasionally rode, to visit the 
old chieftain. In one of these visits, he found Neamathla seated 
in his wigwam, in the centre of the village, surrounded by his 
warriors. The governor had brought him some liquor as a pres- 
ent, but it mounted quickly into his brain, and rendered him 
quite boastful and belligerent. The theme ever uppermost in 
his mind, was the treaty with the whites. " It was true," he 
said, " the red men had made such a treaty, but the white men 
had not acted up to it. The red men had received none of the 
money and the cattle that had been promised them ; the treaty, 
therefore, was at an end, and they did not mean to be bound by 
it." 

Governor Duval calmly represented to him that the time ap- 
pointed in the treaty for the payment and delivery of the money 
and the cattle had not yet arrived. This the old chieftain knew 
full well, but he chose, for the moment, to pretend ignorance. 



CONSPIKACY OF NEAMATHLA. 299 

He kept on drinking and talking, his voice growing louder and 
louder, until it resounded all over the village. He held in his 
hand a long knife, with which he had been rasping tobacco ; this 
he kept flourishing backward and forward, as he talked, by way 
of giving eflFect to his words, brandishing it at times within an 
inch of the governor's throat. He concluded his tirade by re- 
peating, that the country belonged to the red men, and that sooner 
than give it up, his bones and the bones of his people should 
bleach upon its soil. 

Duval knew that the object of all this bluster was to see 
whether he could be intimidated. He kept his eye, therefore, 
fixed steadily on the chief, and the moment he concluded with 
his menace, seized him by the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and 
clinching his other fist : 

'• I've heard what you have said," replied he. " You have 
made a treaty, yet you say your bones shall bleach before you 
comply with it. As sure as there is a sun in heaven, your bones 
shall bleach, if you do not fulfil every article of that treaty ! 
I'll let you know that I am Jiist here, and will see that you do 
your duty ! " 

Upon this the old chieftain threw himself back, burst into a 
fit of laughing, and declared that all he had said was in joke. 
The governor suspected, however, that there was a grave mean- 
ing at the bottom of this jocularity. 

For two months, every thing went on smoothly : the Indians 
repaired daily to the log- cabin palace of the governor, at Talla- 
hassee, and appeared perfectly contented. All at once they 
ceased their visits, and for three or four days not one was to be 
seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend that some mischief 



300 THE SEMINOLES. 

was brewing. On the evening of the fourth day, a chief named 
Yellow- Hair, a resolute, intelligent fellow, who had always 
evinced an attachment for the governor, entered his cabin aboui 
twelve o'clock at night, and informed him, that between four and 
five hundred warriors, painted and decorated, were assembled to 
hold a secret war-talk at .Neamathla's town. He had slipped o5 
to give intelligence, at the risk of his life, and hastened back 
lest his absence should be discovered. 

Governor Duval passed an anxious night after this intelli- 
gence. He knew the talent and the daring character of Nea- 
mathla ; he recollected the threats he had thrown out ; he reflected 
that about eighty white families were scattered widely apart, 
over a great extent of country, and might be swept away at once, 
should the Indians, as he feared, determine to clear the country, 
That he did not exaggerate the dangers of the case, has been 
proved by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare which have since 
desolated that devoted region. After a night of sleepless cogi- 
tation Duval determined on a measure suited to his prompt and 
resolute character. Knowing the admiration of the savages for 
personal courage, he determined, by a sudden surprise, to en- 
deavor to overawe and check them. It was hazarding much ; 
but where so many lives were in jeopardy, he felt bound to incur 
the hazard. 

Accordingly, on the next morning, he set ofi" on horseback, 
attended merely by a white man, who had been reared among 
the Seminoles, and understood their language and manners, and 
who acted as interpreter. They struck into an Indian " trail," 
leading to Neamathla's vilage. After proceeding about half a 
mile, Grovernor Duval informed the interpreter of the object of 



CONSPIKACY OF NEAMATHLA. 301 

his expedition. The latter, though a bold man, paused and re- 
monstrated. The Indians among whom they were going were 
among the most desperate and discontented of the nation. Many 
of them were vetei'an warriors, impoverished and exasperated by 
defeat, and ready to set their lives at any hazard. He said that 
f they were holding a war council, it must be with desperate 
intent, and it would be certain death to intrude among them. 

Duval made light of his apprehensions: he said he was per- 
fectly well acquainted with the Indian character, and should 
certainly proceed. So saying, he rode on. When within half a 
mile of the village, the interpreter addressed him again, in such 
a tremulous tone, that Duval turned and looked him in the face. 
He was deadly pale, and once more urged the governor to return, 
as they would certainly be massacred if they proceeded. 

Duval repeated his determination to go on, but advised the 
other to return, lest his pale face should betray fear to the In- 
dians, and they might take advantage of it. The interpreter 
replied that he would rather die a thousand deaths, than have it 
said he had deserted his leader when in peril. 

Duval then told him he must translate faithfully all he should 
say to the Indians, without softening a word. The interpreter 
promised faithfully to do so, adding that he well knew, when 
they were once in the town, nothing but boldness could save 
them. 

They now rode into the village and advanced to the council- 
house. This was rather a group of four houses, forming a square, 
in the centre of which was a great council-fire. The houses were 
open in front, toward the fire, and closed in the rear. At each 
corner of the square, there was an interval between the houses, 
for ingress and egress. In these houses sat the old men and +' 



302 THE SEMINOLES. 

chiefs; the young men were gathered round the fire. Neamathla 
presided at the council, elevated on a higher seat than the rest. 

Governor Duval entered by one of the corner intervals, and 
rode boldly into the centre of the sq[uare. The young men made 
<vay for him ; an old man who was speaking, paused in the midst 
of his harangue. In an instant thirty or forty rifles were cocked 
and levelled. Never had Duval heard so loud a click of triggers; 
it seemed to strike to his heart. He gave one glance at the In- 
dians, and turned off with an air of contempt. He did not dare, 
he says, to look again, lest it might affect his nerves, and on the 
firmness of his nerves every thing depended. 

The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were lowered. Duval 
breathed more freely ; he felt disposed to leap from his horse, but 
restrained himself, and dismounted leisurely. He then walked 
deliberately up to Neamathla, and demanded, in an authoritative 
tone, what were his motives for holding that council. The 
moment he made this demand, the orator sat down. The chief 
made no reply, but hung his head in apparent confusion. After 
a moment's pause, Duval proceeded : 

"I am well aware of the meaning of this war-council ; and 
deem it my duty to warn you against prosecuting the schemes 
you have been devising. If a single hair of a white man in this 
country falls to the ground, I will hang you and your chiefs on 
the trees around your council-house ! You cannot pretend to 
withstand the power of the white men. You are in the palm of 
the hand of your Great Father at "Washington, who can crush 
you like an egg-shell ! You may kill me ; I am but one man • 
but recollect, white men are numerous as the leaves on the trees. 
Remember the fate of your warriors whose bones are whitening 
in battle-fields. Remember your wives ai.d children who perished 



CONSriRACT OF NEAMATHLA. 303 

m swamps. Do you waut to provoke more hostilities ? Another 
war with the white men, and there will not be a Seminole left to 
tell the story of his race." 

Seeing the eflfect of his words, he concluded by appointing a 
day for the Indians to meet him at St. Marks, and give an ac- 
count of their conduct. He then rode off, without giving them 
time to recover from their surprise. That night he rode forty 
miles to Apalachicola River, to the tribe of the same name, who 
were in feud with the Seminoles. They promptly put two hun- 
dred and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he ordered to be at 
St. Marks at the appointed day. He sent out runners, also, and 
mustered one hundred of the militia to repair to the same place, 
together with a number of regulars from the army. All his ar- 
rangements were successful. 

Having taken these measures, he returned to Tallahassee, to 
the neighborhood of the conspirators, to show them that he was 
not afraid. Here he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that 
niae towns were disaffected, and had been concerned in the con- 
spiracy. He was careful to inform himself, from the same 
source, of the names of the warriors in each of those towns who 
were most popular, though poor, and destitute of rank and 
command. 

When the appointed day was at hand for the meeting at St. 
Marks, Governor Duval set off with Neamathla, who was at the 
head of eight or nine hundred warriors, but who feared to venture 
into the fort without him. As they entered the fort, and saw 
troops and militia drawn up there, and a force of Apalachicola 
soldiers stationed on the opposite bank of the river, they thought 
they were betrayed, and were about to fly ; but Duval assured 



304 



THE SEMINOLES. 



them they were safe, and that when the talk was over, they might 
go home unmolested. 

A grand talk was now held, in which the late conspiracy 
was discussed. As he had foreseen, Neamathla and the other 
old chiefs threw all the blame upon the young men. "Well," 
eplied Duval, " with us white men, when we find a man incom- 
petent to govern those under him, we put him down, and appoint 
another in his place. Now, as you all acknowledge you cannot 
manage your young men, we must put chiefs over them who can." 

So saying, he deposed Neamathla first; appointing another 
in his place ; and so on with all the rest ; taking care to sub- 
stitute the warriors who bad been pointed out to him as poor 
and popular ; putting medals round their necks, and investing 
them with great ceremony. The Indians were surprised and 
delighted at finding the appointments fall upon the very men 
they would themselves have chosen, and hailed them with aC' 
clamations. The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to com- 
mand, and clothed with dignity, were secured to the interests of 
the governor, and sure to keep an eye on the disaffected. As to 
the great chief Neamathla, he left the country in disgust, and 
returned to the Creek Nation, who elected him a chief of one of 
their towns. Thus by the resolute spirit and prompt sagacity 
of one man, a dangerous conspiracy was completely defeated. 
Governor Duval was afterwards enabled to remove the whole 
nation, through his own personal influence, without the aid of 
the General Government. 

Note. — The foregoing anecdotes concerning the Seminoles, 
were gathered in conversation with Governor Duval (the original 
of Ralph Ringwood). 



THE COUNT VAN HORN. 

During the minority of Louis XV., while the Duke of Orleans 
was Regent of Franco, a young Flemish nobleman, the Count 
Antoine Joseph Van Horn, made his sudden appearance in 
Paris, and by his character, conduct, and the subsequent disas- 
ters in which he became involved, created a great sensation in 
the high circles of the proud aristocracy. He was about twenty- 
two years of age, tall, finely formed, with a pale, romantic coun- 
tenance, and eyes of remarkable brilliancy and wildness. 

He was one of the most ancient and highly-esteemed families 
of European nobility, being of the line of the Princes of Horn 
and Overique, sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and hereditary 
Grand Veneurs of the empire. 

The family took its name from the little town apd seigneurie 
of Horn, in Brabant ; and was known as early as the eleventh 
century among the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and since 
that time, by a long line of illustrious generations. At the 
peace of Utrecht, when the Netherlands passed under subjection 
to Austria, the house of Van Horn came under the domination 
of the emperor. At the time we treat of, two of the branchea 



306 THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 

of this ancient house were extinct ; the third and only surviving 
branch was represented by the reigning prince, Maximilian 
Emanuel Van Horn, twenty-four years of age, who resided in 
honorable and courtly style on his hereditary domains at Baus- 
signy, in the Netherlands, and his brother the Count Antoine 
Joseph, who is the subject of this memoir. 

The ancient house of Van Horn, by the intermarriage of its 
various branches with the noble families of the continent, had 
become widely connected and interwoven with the high aristoc- 
racy of Europe. The Count Antoine, therefore, could claim re- 
lationship to many of the proudest names in Paris. In fact, he 
was grandson, by the mother's side, of the Prince de Ligne, and 
even might boast of affinity to the Regent (the Duke of Orleans) 
himself. There were circumstances, however, connected with 
his sudden appearance in Paris, and his previous story, that 
placed him in what is termed " a false position;" a word of bale- 
ful significance in the fashionable vocabulary of France. 

The young Count had been a captain in the service of Aus- 
tria, but had been cashiered for irregular conduct, and for disre- 
spect to Prince Louis of Baden, commander-in-chief. To check 
him in his wild career, and bring him to sober reflection, his 
brother the Prince caused him to be arrested, and sent to the 
old castle of Van Wert, in the domains of Horn. This was the 
same castle in which, in former times, John Van Horn, Stadt- 
holder of Gueldres, had imprisoned his father j a circumstance 
which has furnished Rembrandt with the subject of an admirable 
painting. The governor of the castle was one Van Wert, grand- 
eon of the famous John Van Wert, the hero of many a popular 
Bong and legend. It was the intention of the Prince that his 



THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 307 

brother should be held in honorable durance, for his object was 
to sober and improve, not to punish and afflict him. Van Wert, 
however, was a stern, harsh man, of violent passions. He 
treated the youth in a manner that prisoners and offenders were 
treated in the strongholds of the robber counts of Germany, in 
old times ; confined him in a dungeon, and inflicted on him such 
hardships and indignities, that the irritable temperament of the 
young count was roused to continual fury, which ended in in- 
sanity. For six months was the unfortunate youth kept in this 
horrible state, without his brother the Prince being informed of 
his melancholy condition, or of the cruel treatment to which he 
was subjected. At length, one day, in a paroxysm- of frenzy, 
the Count knocked down two of his gaolers with a beetle, escaped 
from the castle of Van Wert, and eluded all pursuit : and after 
roving about in a state of distraction, made his way to Baus- 
signy, and appeared like a spectre before his brother. 

The Prince was shocked at his wretched, emaciated appear- 
ance, and his lamentable state of mental alienation. He re- 
ceived him with the most compassionate tenderness ; lodged him 
in his own room ; appointed three servants to attend and watch 
over him day and night ; and endeavored, by the most soothing 
and affectionate assiduity, to atone for the past act of rigor with 
which he reproached himself When he learned, however, the 
manner in which his unfortunate brother had been treated in 
confinement, and the course of brutalities that had led to his 
mental malady, he was aroused to indignation. His first step 
was to cashier Van Wert from his command. That violent man 
set the Prince at defiance, and attempted to maintain himself in 
Lis government and his castle, by instigating the peasants, fu 



308 THE COUNT VAN HOEN. 

several leagues round, to revolt. His insurrection might have 
been formidable against the power of a petty prince ; but he was 
put under the ban of the empire, and seized as a state prisoner 
The memory of his grandfather, the oft-sung John Van Wert, 
alone saved him from a gibbet ; but he was imprisoned in the 
strong tower of Horn-op-Zee. There he remained until he was 
eighty-two years of age, savage, violent, and unconquered to the 
last ; for we are told that he never ceased fighting and thump- 
ing, as long as he could close a fist or wield a cudgel. 

In the mean time, a course of kind and gentle treatment and 
wholesome regimen, and above all, the tender and affectionate 
assiduity of his brother, the Prince, produced the most salutary 
effects upon Count Antoine. He gradually recovered his rea- 
son ; but a degree of violence seemed always lurking at the bot- 
tom of his character, and he required to be treated with the 
greatest caution and mildness, for the least contradiction exas- 
perated him. 

In this state of mental convalescence, he began to find the 
supervision and restraints of brothei-ly affection insupportable ; 
so he left the Netherlands furtively, and repaired to Paris, 
whither, in fact, it is said he was called by motives of interest, 
to make arrangements concerning a valuable estate which he in- 
herited from his relative the Princess d'Epinay. 

On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the Marquis of Cre- 
qui, and other of the high nobility with whom he was connected. 
He was received with great cour-tesy ; but, as he brought no let- 
ters from his elder brother, the Prince, and as various circum- 
stances of his previous history had transpired, they did not re- 
C3ive him into their families, nor introduce him to their ladies. 



THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 309 

Still they feted him in bachelor style, gave him gay and elegant 
suppers at their separate apartments, and took him to their 
boxes at the theatres. He was often noticed, too, at the doors 
of the most fashionable churches, taking his stand among the 
young men of fashion ; and at such times, his tall, elegant figure, 
his pale but handsome countenance, and his flashing eyes, distin- 
guished him from among the crowd ; and the ladies declared 
that it was almost impossible to support his ardent gaze. 

The Count did not afflict himself much at his limited circu- 
lation in the fastidious circles of the high aristocracy. He 
relished society of a wilder and less ceremonious cast ; and 
meeting with loose companions to his taste, soon ran into all the 
excesses of the capital, in that most licentious period. It is 
said that, in the course of his wild career, he had an intrigue 
with a lady of quality, a favorite of the Regent ; that he was 
surprised by that prince in one of his interviews ; that sharp 
words passed between them ; and that the jealousy and ven- 
geance thus awakened, ended only with his life. 

About this time, the famous Mississippi scheme of Law was 
at its height, or rather it began to threaten that disastrous ca- 
tastrophe which convulsed the whole financial world. Every 
effort was making to keep the bubble inflated. The vagrant 
population of France was swept ofi" from the streets at night, 
and conveyed to Havre de Grace, to be shipped to the projected 
colonies ; even laboring people and mechanics were thus crimped 
and spirited away. As Count Antoine was in the habit of sally- 
ing forth at night, in disguise, in pursuit of his pleasures, he 
came near being carried oflf by a gang of crimps ; it seemed, in 
fact, as if they had been lying in wait for him, as he had expo- 



310 THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 

rienoed very rough treatment at their hands Complaint waa 
made of his case by his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who 
took much interest in the youth ; but the Marquis received mys- 
terious intimations not to interfere in the matter, but to advise 
the Count to quit Paris immediately : " If he lingers, he is 
l)st ! " This has been cited as a proof that vengeance was dog- 
ging at the heels of the unfortunate youth^ and only watching 
for an opportunity to destroy him. 

Such opportunity occurred but too soon. Among the loose 
companions with whom the Count had become intimate, were 
two who lodged in the same hotel with him. One was a youth 
only twenty years of age, who passed himself off as the Cheva- 
lier d'Etampes, but whose real name was Lestang, the prodigal 
son of a Flemish banker. The other, named Laurent de Mille, 
a Piedmontese, was a cashiered captain, and at the time an 
esquire in the service of the dissolute Princess de Carignan, who 
kept gambling- tables in her palace. It is probable that gam- 
bling propensities had brought these young men together, and 
that their losses had driven them to desperate measures ; cer- 
tain it is, that all Paris was suddenly astounded by a murder 
which they were said to have committed. What made the crime 
more startling, was, that it seemed connected with the great 
Mississippi scheme, at that time the fruitful source of all kinds 
of panics and agitations. A Jew, a stockbroker, who dealt 
largely in shares of the bank of Law, founded on the Mississippi 
scheme, was the victim. The story of his death is variously re- 
lated. The darkest account states, that the Jew was decoyed 
by these young men into an obscure tavern, under pretext of ne- 
gotiating with him for bank shares, to the amount of one hundred 



THE COUNT VAN IIOEN. 311 

thousand crowns, which he had with him in his pocket-book. 
Lestang kept watch upon the stairs. The Count and De Millo 
entered with the Jew into a chamber In a little while there 
were heard cries and struggles from within. A waiter passing 
by the room, looked in, and seeing the Jew weltering in his 
blood, shut the door again, double-locked it, and alarmed the 
house. Lestang rushed down stairs, made his way to the hotel, ' 
secured his most portable effects,' and fled the country. The 
Count and De Mille endeavored to escape by the window, but 
were both taken, and conducted to prison. 

• A circumstance which occurs in this part of the Count's 
story, seems to point him out as a fated man. His mother, and 
his brother, the Prince Van Horn, had received intelligence 
some time before at Baussigny, of the dissolute life the Count 
was leading at Paris, and of his losses at play. They despatched 
a gentleman of the Prince's household to Paris, to pay the debts 
of the Count, and persuade him to return to Flanders ; or, if he 
should refuse, to obtain an order from the Regent for him to 
quit the capital. Unfortunately the gentleman did not arrive at 
Paris until the day after the murder. 

The news of the Count's arrest and imprisonment, on a 
charge of murder, caused a violent sensation among the high 
aristocracy. All those connected with him, who had treated 
him hitherto with indifference, found their dignity deeply in- 
volved in the question of his guilt or innocence. A general con- 
vocation was held at the hotel of the Marquis de Crequi, of all 
the relatives and allies of the house of Horn. It was an assem- 
blage of the most proud and aristocratic personages of Paris. 
Inquiries were made into the circumstances of the affair. It 



312 THE COUNT VAN HOEN. 

was ascertained, beyond a doubt, that the Jew was dead, and 
that he had been killed by several stabs of a poniard. In escap- 
ing by the window, it was said that the Count had fallen, and 
been immediately taken ; but that* De Mille had fled through 
the streets, pursued by the populace, and had been arrested at 
Bome distance from the scene of the murder ; that the Count had 
declared himself innocent of the death of the Jew, and that he 
had risked his own life in endeavoring to protect him ; but that 
De Mille on being brought back to the tavern, confessed to a 
plot to murder the broker, and rob him of his pocket-book, and 
inculpated the Count in the crime. 

Another version of the story was, that the Count Van Horn 
had deposited with the broker bank shares to the amount of 
eighty-eight thousand livres ; that he had sought him in this 
tavern, whieb was one of his resorts, and had demanded the 
shares ; that the Jew had denied the deposit ; that a quarrel had 
ensued, in the course of which the Jew struck the Count in the 
face ; that the latter, transported with rage, had snatched up a 
knife from a table, and wounded the Jew in the shoulder ; and 
that thereupon De Mille, who was present, and who had likewise 
been defrauded by the broker, fell on him, and despatched him 
with blows of a poniard, and seized upon his pocket-book : that 
he had offered to divide the contents of the latter with the Count, 
■pro rata, of what the usurer had defrauded them ; that the latter 
had refused the proposition with disdain, and that, at a noise of 
persons approaching, both had attempted to escape from the pre- 
mises, but had been taken. 

Regard the story in any way they might, appearances were 
terribly against the Count, and the noble assemblage was in great 



THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 313 

consternation. What was to be done to ward off so foul a dis- 
grace and to save their illustrious escutcheons from this murder- 
ous stain of blood ? Their first attempt was to prevent the affair 
from going to trial, and their relative from being dragged before 
a criminal tribunal, on so horrible and degrading a charge. They 
applied, therefore, to the Regent, to intervene his power ; to treat 
the Count as having acted under an access of his mental malady ; 
and to shut him up in a madhouse. The Regent was deaf to 
their solicitations. He replied, coldly, that if the Count was a 
madman, one could not get rid too quickly of madmen who were 
furious in their insanity. The crime was too public and atro- 
cious to be hushed up, or slurred over ; justice must take its 
course. 

Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating scene of a public 
trial, the noble relatives of the Count endeavored to predispose 
the minds of the magistrates before whom he was to be arraigned. 
They accordingly made urgent and eloquent representations of 
the high descent, and noble and powerful connections of the Count; 
set forth the circumstances of his early history ; his mental mal- 
ady; the nervous irritability to which he was subject, and his ex- 
treme sensitiveness to insult or. contradiction. By these means, 
they sought to prepare the judges to interpret every thing in favor 
of the Count, and, even if it should prove that he had inflicted the 
mortal blow on the usurer, to attribute it to access of insanity 
provoked by insult. 

To give full effect to these representations, the noble conclave 
determined to bring upon the judges the dazzling rays of the whole 
assembled aristocracy. Accordingly, on the day that the trial took 
place, the relations of the Coimt, to the number of fifty-seven per- 

14 



314 THE COUNT VAN HOKN. 

sons, of both sexes, and of the highest rank, repaired in a body to 
the Palace of Justice, and took their stations, in a long corridor 
which led to the court-room. Here, as the judges entered, they 
had to pass in review this array of lofty and noble personages, 
who saluted them mournfully and significantly, as they passed. 
Ally one conversant with the stately pride and jealous dignity of 
the French noblesse of that day, may imagine the extreme state 
of sensitiveness that produced this self-abasement. It was confi- 
dently presumed, however, by the noble suppliants, that having 
once brought themselves to this measure, their influence over the 
tribunal would be irresistible. There was one lady present, how- 
ever, Madame de Beauff"remont, who was afiected with the Scot- 
tish gift of second sight, and related such dismal and sinister ap- 
paritions as passing before her eyes, that many of her female 
companions were filled with doleful presentiments. 

Unfortunately for the Count, there was another interest at 
work, more powerful even than the high aristocracy. The infa- 
mous but all-potent Abbe Dubois, the grand favorite and bosom 
counsellor of the Regent, was deeply interested in the scheme of 
Law, and the prosperity of his bank, and of course in the security 
of the stock-brokers. Indeed, the Regent himself is said to have 
dipped deep in the Mississippi scheme. Dubois and Law, there- 
fore, exerted their influenceto the utmost to have the tragic afiair 
pushed to the extremity of the law, and the murder of the broker 
punished in the most signal and appalling manner. Certain it is, 
the trial was neither long nor intricate. The Count and his fel- 
low-prisoner were equally inculpated in the crime, and both were 
condemned to a death the most horrible and ignominious — to b 
rokeu alive on the wheel I 



THE COUNT VAN HOEN. 315 

As soon as the sentence of the court was made public, all the 
nobility, in any degree related to the house of Van Horn, went 
into mourning. Another grand aristocratieal assemblage was 
held, and a petition to the Regent, on behalf of the Count, was 
drawn out and left with the Marquis de Crequi for signature. 
This petition set forth the previous insanity of the Count, and 
s'lowed that it was an hereditary malady in his family. It stated 
various circumstances in mitigation of his offence, and implored 
that his sentence might be commuted to perpetual imprisonment. 

Upward of fifty names of the highest nobility, beginning with 
the Prince de Ligne, and including cardinals, archbishops, dukes, 
marquises, etc. together with ladies of equal rank, were signed to 
this petition. By one of the caprices of human pride and vanity, 
it became an object of ambition to get enrolled among the illus- 
trious suppliants ; a kind of testimonial of noble blood, to prove 
relationship to a murderer ! The Marquis de Crequi was abso- 
lutely besieged by applicants to sign, and had to refer their 
claims to this singular honor, to the Prince de Ligne, the grand- 
father of the Count. Many who were excluded were highly in- 
censed, and numerous feuds took place. Nay, the affronts thus 
given to the morbid pride of some aristocratieal families, passed 
from generation to generation ; for, fifty years afterward, the 
Duchess of Mazarin complained of a slight which her father had 
received from the Marquis de Crequi ; which proved to be some- 
thing connected with the signature of this petition. 

This important document being completed, the illustrious body 
of petitioners, male and female, on Saturday evening, the eve of 
Palm Sunday, repaired to the Palais Royal, the residence of the 
Regent, and were ushered, with great ceremony, but profound si- 



316 THE COUm' VAN IIOEN. 

leiice, into his hall of council. They had appointed four of their 
number as deputies, to present the petition, viz. : the Cardinal de 
Rohan, the Duke de Havre, the Prince de Ligne, and the Marquis 
de Crequi. After a little while, the deputies were summoned to 
the cabinet of the Regent. They entered, leaving the assembled 
petitioners in a state of the greatest anxiety. As time slowly 
wore away, and the evening advanced, the gloom of the company 
increased. Several of the ladies prayed devoutly ; the good Prin- 
cess of Armagnac told her beads. 

The petition was received by the Regent with a most unpro- 
pitious aspect. " In asking the pardon of the criminal," said he, 
" you display more zeal for the house of Van Horn, than for the 
service of the king." The noble deputies enforced the petition 
by every argument in their power. They supplicated the Regent 
to consider that the infamous punishment in question would reach 
not merely the person of the condemned, not merely the house of 
Van Horn, but also the genealogies of princely and illustrious 
families, in whose armorial bearings might be found quarterings 
of this dishonored name. 

" Grentlemen," replied the Regent, " it appears to me the dis- 
grace consists in the crime, rather than in the punishment." 

The Prince de Ligne spoke with warmth : "I have in my 
genealogical standard," said he, " four escutcheons of Van Horn, 
and of course have four ancestors of that house. I must have them 
erased and effaced, and there would be so many blank spaces, like 
holes, in my heraldic ensigns. There is not a sovereign family 
which would not suffer, through the rigor of your Royal Highness ; 
nay, all the world knows, that in the thirty-two quarterings of 
Madame, your Mother, there is an escutcheon of Van Horn." 



THE COUNT VAN fiOEN. 317 

"Very well," replied the Regent, " I will share the disgrace 
with you, gentlemen." 

Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, the Cardinal de 
Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi left the cabinet; but the 
Prince de Ligne and the Duke de Havre remained behind. The 
honor of their houses, more than the life of the unhappy Count, 
was the great object of their solicitude. They now endeavored 
to obtain a minor grace. They represented, that in the Nether- 
lands, and in Germany, there was an important difference in the 
public mind as to the mode of inflicting the punishment of death 
upon persons of quality. That decapitation had no influence on 
the fortunes of the family of the executed, but that the punish- 
ment of the wheel was such an infamy, that the uncles, aunts, 
brothers, and sisters, of the criminal, and his whole family, for 
three succeeding generations, were excluded from all noble chap- 
ters, princely abbeys, sovereign bishoprics, and even Teutonic 
commanderies of the Order of Malta. They showed how this 
would operate immediately upon the fortunes of a sister of the 
Count, who was on the point of being received as a canoness into 
one of the noble chapters. 

While this scene was going on in the cabinet of the Regent, 
the illustrious assemblage of petitioners remained in the hall of 
council, in the most gloomy state of suspense. The reentrance 
from the cabinet of the Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de 
Crequi, with pale downcast countenances, had struck a chill into 
every heart. Still they lingered until near midnight, to learn the 
result of the after application. At length the cabinet conference 
was at an end. The Regent came forth, and saluted the high 
personages of the assemblage in a courtly manner. One old lady 



318 THE COUNT VAN IIOEN. 

of quality, Madame de Guyon, wbom he had known in his infancy, 
he kissed on the cheek, calling her his " good aunt." He made a 
most ceremonious salutation to the stately Marchioness de Crequi, 
telling her he was charmed to see her at the Palais Royal ; " a 
compliment very ill-timed," said the Marchioness, " considering 
the circumstance which brought me there." He then condacted 
the ladies to the door of the second saloon, and there dismissed 
them, with the most ceremonious politeness. 

The application of the Prince de Ligne and the Duke de 
Havre, for a change of the mode of punishment, had, after much 
difficulty, been successful. The Regent had promised solemnly 
to send a letter of commutation to the attorney-general on Holy 
Monday the 25th of March, at five o'clock in the morning. Ac- 
cording to the same promise, a scaffold would be arranged in the 
cloister of the Conciergerie, or prison, where the Count would be 
beheaded on the same morning, immediately after having received 
absolution. This mitigation of the form of punishment gave but 
little consolation to the great body of petitioners, who had been 
anxious for the pardon of the youth : it was looked upon as all- 
important, however, by the Prince de Ligne, who, as has been 
before observed, was exquisitely alive to the dignity of his family. 

The Bishop of 'Bayeux and the Marquis de Crequi visited the 
unfortunate youth in prison. He had just received the communion 
in the chapel of the Conciergerie, and was kneeling before the 
altar, listening to a mass for the dead, which was performed at 
his request. He protested his innocence of any intention to mur- 
der the Jew, but did not deign to allude to the accusation of rob- 
bery. He made the Bishop and the Marquis promise to see hia 
brother the Prince, and inform him of this his dying asseveration. 



THE COTJiS-T VAN nOEN. 319 

Two other of bis relations, the Prince Kebecq-Montmorency and 
the Marshal Van Isenghien, visited him secretly, and offered him 
poison, as a means of evading the disgrace of a public execution. 
On his refusing to take it, they left him -with high indignation. 
" Miserable man ! " said they " you are fit only to perish by the 
hand of the executioner ! " 

The Marquis de Crequi sought the executioner of Paris, to 
bespeak an easy and decent death for the unfortunate youth, 
" Do not make him suffer," said he ; " uncover no part of him but 
the neck ; and have his body placed in a coffin before you deliver 
it to his family." The executioner promised all that was re- 
quested, but declined a rouleau of a hundred louis-d'ors which the 
Marquis would have put into his hand. " I am paid by the King 
for fulfilling my office," said he ; and added, that he had already 
refused a like sum, offered by another relation of the Marquis. 

The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a state of deep af- 
fliction. There he found a letter from the Duke de St. Simon, 
the familiar friend of the Regent, repeating the promise of that 
Prince, that the punishment of the wheel should be commuted to 
decapitation. 

"Imagine," says the Marchioness de Crequi, who in her 
memoirs gives a detailed account of this affair, " imagine what we 
experienced, and what was our astonishment, our grief, and indig- 
nation, when, on Tuesday the 26th of March, an hour after mid- 
day, word was brought us that the Count Van Horn had been 
exposed on the wheel, in the Place de Greve, since half-past six 
in the morning, on the same scaffold with the Piedmontese, De 
Mille, and that he had been tortured previous to execution ! " 

One more scene of aristocratic pride closed this tragic story 



320 THE COUNT VAN HOEN. 

The Marquis de Crequi, on receiving this astounding news, Imrae- 
diately arrayed himself in the uniform of a general officer, with 
his cordon of nobility on the coat. He ordered six valets to at^- 
tend him in grand livery, and two of his carriages, each with six 
horses, to be brought forth. In this sumptuous state, he set off 
for the Palace de Greve, where he had been preceded by the 
Princes de Ligne, de Rohan, de Croviy, and the Duke de Havre. 

The Count Van Horn was already dead, and it was believed 
that the executioner had had the charity to give him the coup de 
grace, or " death blow," at eight o'clock in the morning. At five 
o'clock in the evening, when the Judge Commissary left his post 
at the Hotel de Ville, these noblemen, with their own hands, aid- 
ed to detach the mutilated remains of their relation ; the Marquis 
de Crequi placed them in one of his carriages, and bore them off 
to his hotel, to receive the last sad obsequies. 

The conduct of the Regent in this affair excited general indig- 
nation. His needless severity was attributed by some to vindic- 
tive jealousy ; by others to the persevering machinations of Law 
and the Abbe Dubois. The house of Van Horn, and the high 
nobility of Flanders and Germany, considered themselves flagrantly 
outraged : many schemes of vengeance were talked of, and . a 
hatred engendered against the Regent, that followed him through 
life, and was wreaked with bitterness upon his memory after his 
death. 

The following letter is said to have been written to the Re- 
gent by the Prince Van Horn, to whom the former had adjudged 
the confiscated effects of the Count : 

*' I do not complain, sir, of the death of my brother, but 1 
complain that your Royal Highness has violated in his person the 



THE COUNT TAN HORN. 321 

rights of the kingdom, the nobility, and the nation. I thank you 
for the confiscation of his effects ; but I should think myself as 
much disgraced as he, should I accept any favor at your hands. 
/ hope that God and the King may render to you as strict 
justice as you have rendered to my unfortunate hrother.^^ 



U* 



DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 

** 1 have heard of spirits walking ■with aerial bodies, and have been wondered at by 
otliers ; but I rnnst only wonder at myself, for., if they be not mad. I'liie come to my own 
buriall." Suikley's "Witty Fairib Ome." 

Every body has heard of the fate of Don Juan, the famous liber- 
tine of Seville, who for his sins against the fair sex, and other 
minor peccadilloes, was hurried away to the internal regions. 
His story has been illustrated in play, in pantomime, and farce, 
on every stage in Christendom, until at length it has been render- 
ed the theme of the opera of operas, and embalmed to endless 
duration in the glorious music of Mozart. I well recollect the 
effect of this story upon my feelings in my boyish days, though 
represented in grotesque pantomime ; the awe with which I con- 
templated the monumental statue on horseback of the murdered 
commander, gleaming by pale moonlight in the convent cemetery : 
how my heart quaked as he bowed his marble head, and accepted 
the impious invitation of Don Juan : how each foot-fall of the 
statue smote upon my heart, as I heard it approach, step by step, 
through the echoing corridor, and beheld it enter, and advance, 
a moving figure of stone, to the supper table ! But then the con- 
vivial scene in the charnel house, where Don Juan returned the 
visit of the statue ; was offered a banquet of sculls and bones 



BON JTJAJSr : A SPECTRAL RESEAECII. 323 

and on refusing to partake, was burled into a yawning gulf under 
a tremendous shower of fire ! These were accumulated horrors 
enough to shake the nerves of the most pantomime-loving school- 
boy. Many have supposed the story of Don Juan a mere fable, 
I myself thought so once; but ''seeing is believing." I have 
since beheld the very scene where it took place, and now to in- 
dulge any doubt on the subject, would be preposterous. 

I was one night perambulating the streets of Seville, in com- 
pany with a Spanish friend, a curious investigator of the popular 
traditions and other good-for-nothing lore of the city, and who 
was kind enough to imagine he had met, in me, with a congenial 
spirit. In the course of our rambles, we were passing by a heavy 
dark gateway, opening into the court-yard of a convent, when he 
laid his hand upon my arm : " Stop ! " said he ; " this is the con- 
vent of San Francisco ; there is a story connected with it, which 
I am sure must be known to you. You cannot but have heard 
of Don Juan and the marble statue." 

" Undoubtedly," replied I ; "it has been familiar to me from 
childhood," 

" Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this very convent that 
the events took place." 

" Why, you do not mean to say that the story is founded on 
fact ? " 

^' Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of the case are said 
to have occurred during the reign of Alfonso XI, Don Juan 
was of the noble family of Tenorio, one of the most illustrious 
houses of Andalusia. His father, Don Diego Tenorio, was a 
favorite of the king, and his family ranked among the veintecua- 
troSf or magistrates, of the city. Presuming on his high descent 



324 DON JUAN : A SPECTEAL KESEAKCH. 

and powerful connections, Don Juan set no bounds to his exces- 
ses : no female, higli or low, was sacred from his pursuit ; and he 
soon became the scandal of Seville. One of his most daring out- 
rages was, to penetrate by night into the palace of Don Gonzalo 
de Ulloa, Commander of the Order of Calo-trava, and attempt to car- 
j oif his daughter. The household was alarmed ; a scuflSe in the 
dark took place ; Don Juan escaped, but tho unfortimate command- 
er was found weltering in his blood, and expired without being able 
to name his murderer. Suspicions attached to Don Juan ; he 
did not stop to meet the investigations of justice and the ven- 
geance of the powerful family of Ulloa, but fled from Seville, and 
took refuge with his uncle, Don Pedro Tenorio, at that time am- 
bassador at the court of Naples. Here he remained until the 
agitation occasioned by the murder of Don Gonzalo had time to 
subside ; and the scandal which the affair might cause to both 
the families of Ulloa and Tenorio had induced them to hush it 
up. Don Juan, however, continued his libertine career at Naples, 
until at length his excesses forfeited the protection of his uncle 
the ambassador, and obliged him again to flee. He had made 
his way back to Seville, trusting that his past misdeeds were for- 
gotten, or rather trusting to his dare-devil spirit and the power 
of his family, to carry him through all difficulties. 

" It was shortly after his return, and while in the height of 
his arrogance, that on visiting this very convent of Francisco, he 
beheld on a monument the equestrian statue of the murdered 
commander, who had been buried within the walls of this sacred 
edifice, where the family of Ulloa had a chapel. It was on this 
occasion that Don Juan, in a moment of impious levity, invited 
the statue to the banquet, the awful catastrophe of which has 
given such celebrity to his story." 



DON JTJAN : A SPECTKAL KESEAKCH. 325 

" And pray how much of this story," said I, " is believed in 
Seville ? " 

" The -whole of it by the populace ; with whom it has been 
a favorite tradition since time immemorial, and who crowd to the 
theatres to see it represented in dramas written long since by 
Tyrso de Molina, and another of our popular writers. Many in 
our higher ranks also, accustomed from childhood to this story, 
would feel somewhat indignant at hearing it treated with con 
tempt. An attempt has been made to explain the whole, by as- 
serting that, to put an end to the extravagances of Don Juan, 
and to pacify the family of Ulloa, without exposing the delin- 
quent to the degrading penalties of justice, he was decoyed into 
this, convent under false pretext, and either plunged into a per- 
petual dungeon, or privately hurried out of existence ; while the 
story of the statue was circulated by the monks, to account for 
his sudden disappearance. The populace, however, are not to be 
cajoled out of a ghost story by any of these plausible explana- 
tions ; and the marble statue still strides the stage, and Don 
Juan is still plunged into the infernal regions, as an awful warn- 
ing to all rake-helly youngsters, in like case offending." 

While my companion was relating these anecdotes, we 
had traversed the exterior court-yard of the convent, and 
made our way into a great interior court; partly surrounded 
by cloisters and dormitories, partly by chapels, and having a 
large fountain in the centre. The pile had evidently once been 
extensive and magnificent; but it was for the greater part in 
ruins. By the light of the stars, and of twinkling lamps placed 
here and there in the chapels and corridors, I could see that 
many of the columns and arches were broken; the walls were 



326 DON JUAN : A SPECTEAL EESEAKCH. 

rent and riven ; while burnt beams and rafters showed the de- 
structive effects of fire. The whole place had a desolate air ; the 
night breeze rustled through grass and weeds flaunting out of the 
crevices of the*walls, or from the shattered columns ; the bat 
flitted about the vaulted passages, and the owl hooted from the 
ruined belfry. Never was any scene more completely fitted 
for a ghost story. 

While I was indulging in picturings of the fancy, proper to 
such a place, the deep chant of the monks from the convent 
church came swelling upon the ear. " It is the vesper service," 
said my companion ; " follow me." 

Leading the way across the court of the cloisters, and 
through one or two ruined passages, he reached the portal of the 
church, and pushing open a wicket, cut in the folding-doors, we 
found ourselves in the deep arched vestibule of the sacred edifice. 
To our left was the choir, forming one end of the church, and 
having a low vaulted ceiling, which gave it the look of a cavern. 
About this were ranged the monks, seated on stools, and chanting 
from immense books placed on music stands, and having the notes 
scored in such gigantic characters as to be legible from every part 
of the choir, A few lights on these music stands dimly illumined 
the choir, gleamed on the shaven heads of the monks, and threw 
their shadows on the walls. They were gross, blue-bearded, bul- 
let-headed men, with bass voices, of deep metallic tone, that rever- 
berated out of the cavernous choir. 

To our right extended the great body of the church. It was 
spacious and lofty ; some of the side chapels had gilded grates, 
and were decorated with images and paintings, representing the 
sufferings of our Saviour. Aloft was a great painting by Murilio, 



DON JUAN : A SPECTEAL KESEAKCH. 327 

but too much in the dark to be distinguished. The gloom of the 
whole church was but faintly relieved by the reflected light from 
the choir, and the glimmering here and there of a votive lamp 
before the shrine of the saint. 

As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, it was struck with 
the dimly seen figure of a man on horseback, near a distant altar. 
I touched my companion, and pointed to it : " The spectre statue ! " 
said I. 

" No," replied he ; " it is the statue of the blessed St. lago ; 
the statue of the commander was in the cemetery of the convent, 
and was destroyed at the time of the conflagration. But," added 
he, " as I see you take a proper interest in these kind of stories, 
come with me to the other end of the church, where our whisper- 
ings will not disturb these holy fathers at their devotions, and I 
will tell you another story, that has been current for some gener- 
ations in our city, by which you will find that Don Juan is not 
the only libertine that has been the object of supernatural casti- 
gation in Seville." 

I accordingly followed him with noiseless tread to the farther 
part of the church, where we took our seats on the steps of an 
altar opposite to the suspicious-looking figure on horseback, and 
there, in a low mysterious voice, he related to me the following 
narrative : — 

" There was once in Seville a gay young fellow, Don Manuel 
de Manara by name, who having come to a great estate by the 
death of his father, gave the reins to his passions, and plunged into 
all kinds of dissipation. Like Don Juan, whom he seemed to 
have taken for a model, he became famous for his enterprises 



328 DON JUAN : A SPECTKAL EESEAKCH* 

among the fair sex, and was the cause of doors being barred and 
windows grated with more than usual strictness. All in vain. 
No balcony was too high for him to scale: no bolt nor bar was 
proof against his efforts : and his very name was a word of terror 
to all the jealous husbands and cautious fathers of Seville. His 
xploits extended to country as well as city ; and in the village 
dependent on his castle, scarce a rural beauty was safe from hia 
arts and enterprises. 

" As he was one day ranging the streets of Seville, with sever- 
al of his dissolute companions, he beheld a procession, about to 
enter the gate of a convent. In the centre was a young female, 
arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was a novice, who, having ac- 
complished her year of probation, was about to take the black veil, 
and consecrate herself to heaven. The companions of Don Man- 
uel drew back, out of respect to the sacred pageant ; but he pressed 
forward, with his usual impetuosity, to gain a near view of the 
novice. He almost jostled her, in passing through the portal of 
the church, when, on her turning round, he beheld the counte- 
nance of a beautiful village girl, who had been the object of hia 
ardent pursuit, but who had been spirited secretly out of his reach 
by her relatives. She recognized him at the same moment, and 
fainted : but was borne within the grate of the chapel. It was 
supposed the agitation of the ceremony and the heat of the throng 
had overcome her. After some time, the curtain which hung 
within the grate was drawn up : there stood the novice, pale and 
trembling, surrounded by the abbess and the nuns. The ceremony 
proceeded ; the crown of flowers was taken from her head , she 
was shorn of her silken tresses, received the black veil, and went 
passively through the remainder of the ceremony. 



DON JUAN : A SPECTEAL KESEAKCH. 329 

" Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was roused to fury 
at the sight of this sacrifice. His passion, which had almost faded 
away in the absence of the object, now glowed with tenfold ardor, 
being inflamed by the difficulties placed in his way, and piqued by 
the measures which had been taken to defeat him. Never had the 
object of his pursuit appeared so lovely and desirable as when 
within the grate of the convent ; and he swore to have her, in de- 
fiance of heaven and earth. By dint of bribing a female servant 
of the convent, he contrived to convey letters to her, pleading his 
passion in the most eloquent and seductive terms. How success- 
ful they were, is only matter of conjecture ; certain it is, he under- 
took one night to scale the garden wall of the convent, either to 
carry off the nun, or gain admission to her cell. Just as he was 
mounting the wall, he was suddenly plucked back, and a stranger, 
muffled in a cloak, stood before him. 

" ' Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he : 'is it not enough to have 
violated all human ties? Wouldst thou steal a bride from 
heaven ! ' 

" The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn on the instant, 
and furious at this interruption, he passed it through the body of 
the stranger, who fell dead at his feet. Hearing approaching foot- 
steps, he fled the fatal spot, and mounting his horse, which was at 
hand, retreated to his estate in the country, at no great distance 
from Seville. Here he remained throughout the next day, full 
of horror and remorse ; dreading lest he should be known as the 
murderer of the deceased, and fearing each moment the arrival of 
the officers of justice. 

" The day passed, however, without molestation ; and, as the 
evening advanced, unable any longer to endure this state of uncer- 



830 DON JUAjsr : a spectkai. eeseaech. 

tainty and apprehension, he ventured back to Seville. Irresisti- 
bly bis footsteps took the direction of the convent ; but he paused 
and hovered at a distance from the scene of blood. Several persons 
were gathered round the place, one of whom was busy nailing 
something against the convent wall. After a ^ while they dispers- 
ed, and one passed near to Don Manuel. The latter addressed 
him, with hesitating voice. 

" ' Scnor,' said he, ' may I ask the reason of yonder throng?' 

" ' A cavalier,' replied the other, ' has been murdered.' 

" ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; ' and can you tell me 
his name ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara,' replied the stranger, and passed on. 

" Don Manuel was startled at this mention of his own name ; 
especially when applied to the murdered man. He ventured, when 
it was entirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. A small cross 
had been nailed against the wall, as is customary in Spain, to mark 
the place where a murder has been committed ; and just below it 
he read, by the twinkling light of a lamp ; ' Here was murdered 
Don Manuel de Manara. Pray to God for his soul ! ' 

" Still more confounded and perplexed by this inscription, he 
wandered about the streets until the night was far advanced, and 
all was still and lonely. As he entered the principal square, the 
light of torches suddenly broke on him, and he beheld a grand 
funeral procession moving across it. There was a great train of 
priests, and many persons of dignified appearance, in ancient 
Spanish dresses, attending as mourners, none of whom he knew. 
Accosting a servant who followed in the train, he demanded the 
name of the defunct. 

" * Don Manuel de Manara,' was the reply ; and it went cold 



DON juan: a specteal kesearch. 331 

to his heart. He looked, and indeed beheld the armorial bearings 
of his family emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. Yet not one 
of his family was to be seen among the mourners. The mystery 
was more and more incomprehensible. 

" He followed the procession as it moved on to the cathedral 
The bier was deposited before the high altar ; the funeral service 
was commenced, and the grand organ began to peal through the 
vaulted aisles. 

" Again the youth ventured to question this awful pageant. 
' Father,' said he, with trembling voice, to one of the priests, 
* who is this you are about to inter ? ' 

" ' Don Manuel de Manara ! ' replied the priest. 

" * Father,' cried Don Manuel, impatiently, ' you are deceived. 
This is some imposture. Know that Don Manuel de Manara is alive 
and well, and now stands before you. / am Don Manuel de Manara ! ' 

"' Avaunt, rash youth ! ' cried the priest; 'know that Don 
Manuel de Manara is dead ! — is dead ! — is dead ! — and we are 
all souls from purgatory, his deceased relatives and ancestors, 
and others that have been aided by masses from his family, who 
are permitted to come here and pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 

" Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance upon the assemblage, 
in antiquated Spanish garbs, and recognized in their pale and 
ghastly countenances the portraits of many an ancestor that hung 
in the family picture-gallery. He now lost all self-command, 
rushed up to the bier, and beheld the counterpart of himself, but 
in the fixed and livid lineaments of death. Just at that moment 
the whole choir burst forth with a ' Requiescat in pace,'' that 
shook the vaults of the cathedral. Don Manuel sank senseless on 
the pavement. He was found there early the next morning by tie 



332 DON JUAN : A SPECTKAL KESEAKCH. 

sacristan, and conveyed to his home. When sufl&ciently recovered, 
he sent for a friar, and made a full confession of all that had 
happened. 

" ' My son,' said the friar, ' all this is a miracle and a mystery 
intended for thy conversion and salvation. The corpse thou hast 
seen was a token that thoa hadst died to sin and the world ; take 
wai'ning by it, and henceforth live to righteousness and heaven ! ' 

" Don Manuel did take warning by it. Guided by the councils 
of the worthy friar, he disposed of all his temporal affairs ; dedi- 
cated the greater part of his wealth to pious uses, especially to the 
performance of masses for souls in purgatory ; and finally, enter- 
ing a convent, became one of the most zealous and exemplary 
monks in Seville. 



While my companion was relating this story, my eyes wander- 
ed, from time to time, about the dusky church. Methought the 
burly countenances of the monks in the distant choir assumed a 
pallid, ghastly hue, and their deep metallic voices a sepulchral 
sound. By the time the story was ended, they had ended their 
chant ] and, extinguishing their lights, glided one by one, like 
shadows, through a small door in the side of the choir. A deeper 
gloom prevailed over the church; the figure opposite me on horse- 
back grew more and more spectral ; and I almost expected to see 
it bow its head. 

" It is time to be off," said my companion, " unless we intend 
to sup with the statue." 

" I have no relish for such fare nor such company," replied I • 
and following my companion, we groped our way through the 
mouldering cloisters. As we passed by the ruined cemetery, 



DON .ttjan: a specteal keseakch. 333 

keeping up a casual conversation, by way of dispelling the lonelt 
ness of the scene, I called to mind the words of the poet : 

" The tombs 



And monumental caves of death look cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart ! 
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice ; 
!N"ay, speak — and let me hear thy voice ; 
Mine own affrights me with its echoes." 

There wanted nothing but the marble statue of the commandei*, 
striding along the echoing cloisters, to complete the haunted scene. 
Since that time, I never fail to attend the theatre whenever 
the story of Don Juan is represented, whether in pantomime or 
opera. In the sepulchral scene, I feel myself quite at home; and 
when the statue makes his appearance, I greet him as an old 
acquaintance. When the audience applaud, I look round upon 
them with a degree of compassion ; *' Poor souls ! " I say to myself, 
" they think they are pleased ; they think they enjoy this piece, 
and yet they consider the whole as a fiction ! How much more 
would they enjoy it, if, like me, they knew it to be true — and 
had seen 'the very place > " 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 

At the dark and melancholy period when Don Roderick the 
Goth and his chivalry were overthrown on the banks of the Gua- 
dalete, and all Spain was overrun by the Moors, great was the 
devastation of churches and convents throughout that pious king- 
dom. The miraculous fate of one of those holy pil^ is thus re- 
corded in an authentic legend of those days. 

On the summit of a hill, not very distant from the capital city 
of Toledo, stood an ancient convent and chapel, dedicated to the 
invocation of Saint Benedict, and inhabited by a sisterhood of 
Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum was confined to females of 
noble lineage. The younger sisters of the highest families were 
here given in religious marriage to their Saviour, in order that 
the portions of their elder sisters might be increased, and they 
enabled to make suitable matches on earth; or that the family 
wealth might go undivided to elder brothers, and the dignity of 
their ancient houses be protected from decay. The convent was 
renowned, therefore, for enshrining within its walls a sisterhood 
of the purest blood, the most immaculate virtue, and most re- 
oplendent beauty, of all Gothic Spain. 



LEGEND OF THE ENGULPEED CONVENT. 335 

When the Moors overran the kingdom, there was nothing that 
more excited their hostility, than these virgin asylums. The 
very sight of a convent-spire was sufficient to set their Moslem 
blood in a foment, and they sacked it with as fierce a zeal aa 
though the sacking of a nunnery were a sure passport to Elysium. 

Tidings of such outrages, committed in various parts of the 
kingdom, reached this noble sanctuary, and filled it with dismay. 
The danger came nearer and nearer ; the infidel hosts were spread- 
ing all over the country ; Toledo itself was captured ; there was 
nc flying from the convent, and no security within its walls. 

In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was given one day, 
that a great band of Saracens were spurring across the plain. In 
an instant the whole convent was a scene of confusion. Some of 
the nuns wrung their fair hands at the windows ; others waved 
their veils, and uttered shrieks, from the tops of the towers, vainly 
hoping to draw relief from a country overrun by the foe. The 
sight of these innocent doves thus fluttering about their dove-cote, 
but increased the zealot fury of the whiskered Moors. They thun- 
dered at the portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates trem- 
bled on their hinges. 

The nuns now crowded round the abbess. They had been ac- 
customed to look up to her as all-powerful, and they now implored 
her protection. The mother abbess looked with a rueful eye upon 
the treasures of beauty and vestal virtue exposed to such immi- 
nent peril. Alas ! how was she to protect them from the spoiler ! 
She had, it is true, experienced many signal interpositions of 
Providence in her individual favor. Her early days had been 
passed amid the temptations of a court, where her virtue had 
been purified by repeated trials, from none of which had she es- 



336 LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 

caped but by miracle. But were miracles never to cease ? Could 
she hope that the marvellous protection shown to herself, would 
be extended to a whole sisterhood ? There was no other resource. 
The Moors were at the threshold ; a few moments more, and the 
convent would be at their mercy. Summoning her nuns to follow 
her, she hurried into the chapel, and throwing herself on her 
knees before the image of the blessed Mary, " Oh, holy Lady ! " 
exclaimed she, " oh, most pure and immaculate of virgins ! thou 
seest our extremity. The ravager is at the gate, and there is none 
on earth to help us ! Look down with pity, and grant that 
the earth may gape and swallow us, rather than that our cloister 
vows should suffer violation ! " 

The Moors redoubled their assault upon the portal ; the gates 
gave way, with a tremendous crash ; a savage yell of exultation 
arose ; when of a sudden the earth yawned ; down sank the con- 
vent, with its cloisters, its dormitories, and all its nuns. The 
chapel tower was the last that sank, the bell ringing forth a peal 
of triumph in the very teeth of the infidels. 



Forty years had passed and gone, since the period of this 
miracle. The subjugation of Spain was complete. The Moora 
lorded it over city and country ; and such of the Christian popu- 
lation as remained, and were permitted to exercise their religion, 
did it in humble resignation to the Moslem sway. 

At this time, a Christian cavalier, of Cordova, hearing that 
a patriotic band of his coimtrymen had raised the standard of 
the cross in the mountains of the Asturias, resolved to join 
them, and unite in breaking the yoke of bondage. Secret'y 



LEGEND OF THE ENGT7LPHED CONVENT. 661 

arming himself, and caparisoning his steed, he set forth from 
Cordova^ and pursued his course by unfrequented mule-paths, 
and along the dry channels made by winter torrents. His spirit 
burned with indignation, whenever, on commanding a view over 
a long sweeping plain, he beheld the mosque swelling in the dis- 
tance, and the Arab horsemen careering about, as if the rightful 
lords of the soil. Many a deep-drawn sigh, and heavy groan, 
also, did the good cavalier utter, on passing the ruins of churches 
and convents desolated by the conquerors. 

It was on a sultry midsummer evening, that this wandering 
cavalier, in skirting a hill thickly covered with forest, heard the 
faint tones of a vesper bell sounding melodiously in the air, and 
seeming to come from the summit of the hill. The cavalier 
crossed himself with wonder, at this unwonted and Christian 
sound. He supposed it to proceed from one of those humble 
chapels and hermitages permitted to exist through the indul- 
gence of the Moslem conquerors. Turning his steed up a nar- 
row path of the forest, he sought this sanctuary, in hopes of 
finding a hospitable shelter for the night. As he advanced, the 
trees threw a deep gloom around him, and the bat flitted across 
his path. The bell ceased to toll, and all was silence. 

Presently a choir of female voices came stealing sweetly 
through the forest, chanting the evening service,- to the solemn 
accompaniment of an organ. The heart of the good cavalier 
melted at the sound, for it recalled the happier days of his coun- 
try. Urging forward his weary steed, he at length arrived at a 
broad grassy area, on the summit of the hill, surrounded by the 
forest. Here the melodious voices rose in full chorus, like the 
swelling of the breeze ; but whence they came, he could not tell. 
15 



338 LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONTENT. 

Sometimes they -were before, sometimes behind him ; sometimes 
in the air, sometimes as if from -within the bosom of the earth. 
At length they died away, and a holy stillness settled on the 
place. 

The cavalier gazed around with bewildered eye. There was 
neither chapel nor convent, nor humble hermitage, to be seen ; 
nothing but a moss-grown stone pinnacle, rising out of the cen- 
tre of the area, surmounted by a cross. The green sward ap- 
peared to have been sacred from the tread of man or beast, and 
the surrounding trees bent toward the cross, as if in adoration. 

The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. He alighted, and 
tethered his st'^ed on the skirts of the forest, where he might 
crop the tender herbage ; then approaching the cross, he knelt 
and poured forth his evening prayers before this relic of the 
Christian days of Spain. His orisons being concluded, he laid 
himself down at the foot of the pinnacle, and reclining his head 
against one of its stones, fell into a deep sleep. 

About midnight, he was awakened by the tolling of a bell, 
and found himself lying before the gate of an ancient convent. 
A train of nuns passed by, each bearing a taper. He rose and 
followed them into the chapel ; in the centre was a bier, on which 
lay the corpse of an aged nun. The organ performed a solemn 
requiem . the nuns joining in chorus. When the funeral service 
was finished, a melodious voice chanted, " Reguiescat in pace .'" 
— " May she rest in peace ! " The lights immediately vanished : 
the whole passed away as a dream ; and the cavalier found him- 
self at the foot of the cross, and beheld, by the faint rays of the 
rising moon, his steed quietly grazing near him. 

When the day dawned, he descended the hill, and following 



i 



LEGEND OF THE ENGFLPHED CONVENT. 339 

the course of a small brook, came to a cave, at the entrance of 
which was seated an ancient man, in hermit's garb, with rosary 
and cross, and a beard that descended to his girdle. He was 
one of those holy anchorites permitted by the Moors to live un- 
molested in the dens and caves, and humble hermitages, and even 
to practise the rites of their religion. The cavalier, dismount- 
ing, knelt and craved a benediction. He then related all that 
had befallen him in the night, and besought the hermit to explain 
the mystery. 

'' What thou hast heard and seen, my son," replied the other, 
" is but a type and shadow of the woes of Spain." 

He then related the foregoing story of the miraculous deliv- 
erance of the convent. 

" Forty years," added the holy man, " have elapsed since this 
event, yet the bells of that sacred edifice are still heard, from 
time to time, sounding from underground, together with the 
pealing of the organ, and the chanting of the choir. The Moors 
avoid this neighborhood, as haunted ground, and the whole place, 
as thou mayest perceive, has become covered with a thick and 
lonely forest." 

The cavalier listened with wonder to the story. For three 
days and nights did he keep vigils with the holy man beside the 
cross ; but nothing more was to be seen of nun or convent. It 
is supposed that, forty years having elapsed, the natural lives of 
all the nuns were finished, and the cavalier had beheld the obse- 
quies of the last. Certain it is, that from that time, bell, and 
organ, and choral chant, have never more been heard. 

The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the cross, remains 
an object of pious pilgrimage. Some say that it anciently stood 



840 LEGEND OF THE ENGrLPHED CONVENT. 

in front of the convent, but others that it was the spire which 
remained above ground, when the main body of the building sank, 
like the topmast of some tall ship that has foundered. These 
pious believers maintain, that the convent is miraculously pre- 
served entire in the centre of the mountain, where, if proper ex- 
cavations were made, it would be found, with all its treasures, 
and monuments, and shrines, and relics, and the tombs of its 
virgin nuns. 

Should any one doubt the truth of this marvellous interposi- 
tion of the Virgin, to protect the vestal purity of her votaries 
let him read the excellent work entitled " Espana Triumphante," 
written by Fray Antonio de Sancta Maria, a barefoot friar of 
the Carmelite order, and he will doubt no longer. 



THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

Break, Phaiitsie, from thy cave of clond, 

And wave thy purple wings, 
Now all thy figures are allowed, 

And various shapes of things. 
Create of airy forms a stream ; 

It must have blood and naught of phlegm; 
And though it he a walking dream, 

Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 

And fall like sleep upon their eyes, 
Op music on their ear. — Ben Jonson. 

" There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed 
of in our philosophy," and among these may he placed that mar- 
vel and mystery of the seas, the Island of St. Brandan. Those 
who have read the history of the Canaries, the fortunate islands 
of the ancients, may remember the wonders told of this enigmati- 
cal island. Occasionally it would be visible fi*om their shores, 
stretching away in the clear bright west, to all appearance sub- 
stantial like themselves, and still more beautiful. Expeditions 
would launch forth from the Canaries to explore this land of 
promise. For a time its sun-gilt peaks and long, shadowy prom- 
ontories would remain distinctly visible, but in proportion as tho 
voyagers approached, peak and promontory would gradually fade 



342 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

away until nothing would remain but blue sky above, and deep 
blue water below. Hence this mysterious isle was stigmatized 
by ancient cosmographers with the name of Aprositus or the In- 
accessible. The failure of numerous expeditions sent in quest 
of it, both in ancient and modern days, have at length caused its 
very existence to be called in question, and it has been rashly 
pronounced a mere optical illusion, like the Fata Morgana of the 
Straits of Messina, or has been classed with those unsubstantial 
regions known to mariners as Cape Fly Away and the coast of 
Cloud Land. 

Let us not permit, however, the doubts of worldly-wise skep' 
tics to rob us of all the glorious realms owned by happy credu- 
lity in days of yore. Be assured, reader of easy faith ! — thou 
for whom it is my delight to labor — be assured that such an 
island actually exists, and has from time to time, been revealed 
to the gaze, and trodden by the feet, of favored mortals. Histo- 
rians and philosophers may have their doubts, but its existence 
has been fully attested by that inspired race, the poets ; who, 
being gifted with a kind of second sight, are enabled to discern 
those mysteries of nature hidden from the eyes of ordinary men. 
To this gifted race it has ever been a kind of wonder-land. 
Here once bloomed, and perhaps still blooms, the famous gar- 
den of the Hesperides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, the 
sorceress Armida had her enchanted garden, in which she held 
the Christian paladin, Rinaldo, in delicious but inglorious thral- 
dom, as set forth in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was in this 
island that Sycorax the witch held sway, when the good Pros- 
pero and his infant daughter Miranda, were wafted to its shores. 
Who does not know the tale as told in the magic page of Shakes 
peare ? The isle was then 



THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 343 



" full of noises, 



Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not* 

The island, in fact at diflferent times, has been under the sway 
of diflferent powers, genii of earth, and air, and ocean, who have 
made it their shadowy abode. Hither have retired many classic 
but broken-down deities, shorn of almost all their attributes, but 
who once ruled the poetic world. Here Neptune and Amphi- 
trite hold a diminished court ; sovereigns in exile. Their ocean 
chariot, almost a wreck, lies bottom upward in some sea-beaten 
cavern; their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask listlessly 
like seals about the rocks. Sometimes those deities assume, it is 
said, a shadow of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about a 
summer sea ; and then, as some tall Indiaman lies becalmed with 
idly flapping sail, her drowsy crew may hear the mellow note of 
the Triton's shell swelling upon the ear as the invisible pageant 
sweeps by. 

On the shores of this wondrous isle the kraken heaves its 
unwieldy bulk and wallows many a rood. Here the sea-ser- 
pent, that mighty but much contested reptile, lies coiled up during 
the intervals of its revelations to the eyes of true believers. Here 
even the Flying Dutchman finds a port, and casts his anchor, and 
furls his shadowy sail, and takes a brief repose from his eternal 
cruisings. 

In the deep bays and harbors of the island lies many a spell- 
bound ship, long since given up as lost by the ruined merchant. 
Here too its crew, long, long bewailed in vain, lie sleeping from age 
to age, in mossy grottoes, or wander about in pleasing oblivion of 
all things. Here in caverns are garnered up the priceless trea- 



344 THE PHAJSITOM ISLAND. 

eures lost in the ocean. Here sparkles in vain the diamond and 
flames the carbuncle. Here are piled up rich bales of Oriental 
silks, boxes of pearls, and piles of golden ingots. 

Such are some of the marvels related of this island, which 
may serve to throw light upon the following legend, of unquei' 
tionable truth, which I recommend to the implicit belief of the 
reader. 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 

A LEGEND OF ST, BEANDAN. 

In the early part of the fifteenth century, when Prince Henry 
of Portugal, of worthy memory, was pushing the career of dis- 
covery along the western coast of Africa, and the world was 
resounding with reports of golden regions on the mainland, and 
new-found islands in the ocean, there arrived at Lisbon an old 
bewildered pilot of the seas, who had been driven by tempests, 
he knew not whither, and raved about an island far in the deep, 
upon which he had landed, and which he had found peopled with 
Christians, and adorned with noble cities. 

The inhabitants, he said, having never before been visited by 
a ship, gathered round, and regarded him with surprise. They 
told him they were descendants of a band of Christians, who fled 
from Spain when that country was conquered by the Moslems. 
They were curious about the state of their fatherland, and 
grieved to hear that the Moslems still held possession of the 
kingdom of Granada. They would have taken the old navigator 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 345 

to church, to convince him of their orthodoxy; but, cither 
through lack of devotion, or lack of faith in their words, he de- 
clined their invitation, and preferred to return on board of hia 
ship. He was properly punished. A furious storm arose, drove 
him from his anchorage, hurried him out to sea, and he saw no 
more of the unknown island. 

This strange story caused great marvel in Lisbon and else- 
where. Those versed in history, remembered to have read, in 
an ancient chronicle, that, at the time of the conquest of Spain, 
in the eighth century, when the blessed cross was cast down, and 
the crescent erected in its place, and when Christian churches 
were turned into Moslem mosques, seven bishops, at the head of 
seven bands of pious exiles, had fled from the peninsula, and 
embarked in quest of some ocean island, or distant land, where 
they might found seven Christian cities, and enjoy their faith 
unmolested. , 

The fate of these saints errant had hitherto remained a mys- 
tery, and their story had faded from memory ; the report of the 
old tempest-tossed pilot, however, revived this long-forgotten 
theme ; and it was determined by the pious and enthusiastic, 
that the island thus accidentally discovered, was the identical 
place of refuge, whither the wandering bishops had been guided 
by a protecting Providence, and where they had folded their 
flocks. 

This most excitable of worlds has always some darling object 
of chimerical enterprise; the "Island of the Seven Cities " now 
awakened as much interest and longing among zealous Christians, 
as has the renowned city of Timbuctoo among adventurous travel- 
lers, or the Northeast passage among hardy navigators ; and it 

15' 



:S4:Q THE PHAKTOM ISLAITD. ' 

was a frequent prayer of the devout, that these scattered and lost 
portions of the Christian family might be discovered, and reunited 
io the great body of Christendom. 

No one, however, entered into the matter with half the zeal 
of Don Fernando de TJlmo, a young cavalier, of high standing in 
the Portuguese court, and of most sanguine and romantic temper- 
ament. He had recently come to his estate, and had run the 
round of all kinds of pleasures and excitements, when this new 
theme of popular talk and wonder presented itself. The Island of 
the Seven Cities became now the constant subject of his thoughts 
by day, and his dreams by night : it even rivalled his passion for 
a beautiful girl, one of the greatest belles of Lisbon, to whom he 
was betrothed. At length, his imagination became so inflamed 
on the subject, that he determined to fit out an expedition, at his 
own expense, and set sail in quest of this sainted island. It 
could not be a cruise of any great extent ; for, according to the 
calculations of the tempest-tossed pilot, it must be somewhere in 
the latitude -of the Canaries ; which at that time, when the new 
world was as yet undiscovered, formed the frontier of ocean en- 
terprise. Don Fernando applied to the crown for countenance 
and protection. As he was a favorite at court, the usual patron- 
age was readily extended to him ; that is to say, he received a 
commission from the king, Don loam II., constituting him Ada- 
lantado, or military governor, of any country he might discover, 
with the single proviso, that he should bear all the expenses of 
the discovery, and pay a tenth of the profits to the crown. 

Don Fernando now set to work in the true spirit of a pro- 
jector. He sold acre after acre of solid land, and invested the 
proceeds in ships, guns, ammunition, and sea-stores. Even hi 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 347 

old family mansion, in Lisbon, was mortgaged without scruple, 
for he looked forward to a palace in one of the Seven Cities, of 
which he was to be Adalantado. This was the age of nautical 
romance, when the thoughts of all speculative dreamers were 
turned to- the ocean. The scheme of Don Fernando, therefore, 
drew adventurers of every kind. The merchant promised him- 
self new marts of opulent traffic; the soldier hoped to sack and 
plunder some one or other of those Seven Cities ; even the fat 
monk shook off the sleep and sloth of the cloister, to join in a 
crusade which promised such increase to the possessions of the 
church. 

One person alone regarded the whole project with sovereign 
contempt and growling hostility. This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, 
the father of the beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando was 
betrothed, lie was one of those perverse, matter-of-fact old 
men, who are prone to oppose every thing speculative and ro- 
mantic. He had no faith in the Island of the Seven Cities; 
regarded the projected cruise as a crack-brained freak; looked 
with angry eye and internal heart-burning on the conduct of his 
intended son-in-law, chaffering away solid lands for lands in the 
moon ; and scoffingly dubbed him Adalantado of Cloud Land. 
In fact, he had never really relished the intended match, to which 
his consent had been slowly extorted, by the tears and entreaties of 
his daughter. It is true he could have no reasonable objections 
to the youth, for Don Fernando was the very flower of Portu- 
guese chivalry. No one could excel him at the tilting match, or 
the riding at the ring ; none was more bold and dexterous in tho 
bull fight ; none composed more gallant madigrals in praise of 
his lady's charms, or sang them with sweeter tones to the accom- 



348 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

paniment of her guitar ; nor could any one handle the castaneta 
and diance the bolero with more captivating grace. All these 
admirable qualities and endowments, however, though they had 
been sufl&cient to win the heart of Serafina, were nothing in the 
eyes of her unreasonable father. Oh Cupid, god of Love ! why 
will fathers always be so unreasonable ? 

■ The engagement to Serafina had threatened at first to throw 
an obstacle in the way of the expedition of Don Fernando, and 
for a time perplexed him in the extreme. He was passionately 
attached to the young lady ; but he was also passionately bent 
on this romantic enterprise. How should he reconcile the two 
passionate inclinations ? A simple and obvious arrangement at 
length presented itself: marry Serafina, enjoy a portion of the 
honeymoon at once, and defer the rest until his return from the 
discovery of the Seven Cities ! 

He hastened to make known this most excellent arrangement 
to Don Ramiro, when the long- smothered wrath of the old cava- 
lier burst forth. He reproached him with being the dupe of wan- 
dering vagabonds and wild schemers, and with squandering all 
his real possessions, in pursuit of empty bubbles. Don Fernando 
was too sanguine a projector, and too young a man, to listen 
tamely to such language. He acted with what is technically 
called " becoming spirit." A high quarrel ensued ; Don Ramiro 
pronounced him a madman, and forbade all farther intercourse 
with his daughter, until he should give proof of returning sanity, 
by abandoning this madcap enterprise ; while Don Fernando 
Bung out of the house, more bent than ever on the expedition, 
from the idea of triumphing over the incredulity of the gray- 
beard, when he should return successful. Don Ramiro's heart 



THK ADALANTADO OT THE SEVEN CITIES. 349 

misgave Lira. Who knows, thought he, but this crack-brained 
visionary may persuade my daughter to elope with him, and 
share his throne in this unknown paradise of fools ? If I could 
only keep her safe until his ships are fairly out at sea ! 

He repaired to her apartment, represented to her the san- 
uine, unsteady character of her lover and the chimerical value 
of his schemes, and urged the propriety of suspending all inter- 
course with him until he should recover from his present halluci- 
nation. She bowed her head as if in filial acquiescence, whereupon 
he folded her to his bosom with parental fondness and kissed away 
a tear that was stealing over her cheek, but as he left the chamber 
quietly turned the key on the lock ; for though he was a fond fa- 
ther and had a high opinion of the submissive temper of his child, 
he had a still higher opinion of the conservative virtues of lock 
and key, and determined to trust to them until the caravels 
should sail. Whether the damsel had been in any wise shaken in 
her faith as to the schemes of her lover by her father's eloquence, 
tradition does not say ; but certain it is, that, the moment she 
heard the key turn in the lock, she became a firm believer in the 
Island of the Seven Cities. 

The door was locked ; but her will was unconfincd. A window 
of the chamber opened into one of those stone balconies, secured 
by iron bars, which project like huge cages from Portuguese and 
Spanish houses. Within this balcony the beautiful Serafina had 
her birds and flowers, and here she was accustomed to sit on moon- 
light nights as in a bower, and touch her guitar and sing like a 
wakeful nightingale. From this balcony an intercourse was now 
maintained between the lovers, against which the lock and key of 
Don Ramiro were of no avail. All day would Fernando be occu- 



350 THE PHANTOM ISLAITO. 

pied hurrying the equipments of his ships, but evening found him 
m sweet discourse beneath his lady's window. 

At length the preparations were completed. Two gallant ca- 
ravels lay at anchor in the Tagus ready to sail at sunrise. Lato 
at night by the pale light of a waning moon the lover had hia 
last interview. The beautiful Serafina was sad at heart and full 
of dark forebodings ; her lover full of hope and confidence " A 
few short months," said he, " and I shall return in triumph. Thy 
father will then blush at his incredulity, and hasten to welcome to 
his house the Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

The gentle lady shook her head. It was not on this point she 
felt distrust. She was a thorough believer in the Island of the 
Seven Cities, and so sure of the success of the enterprise that she 
might have been tempted to join it had not the balcony been 
high and the grating strong. Other considerations induced that 
dubious shaking of the head. She had heard of the inconstancy 
of the seas, and the inconstancy of those who roam them. Might 
not Fernando meet with other loves in foreign ports ? Might not 
some peerless bea"uty in one or other of those Seven Cities efface the 
image of Serafina from his mind ? Now let the truth be spoken, 
the beautiful Serafina had reason for her disquiet. If Don Fernan- 
do had any fault in the world, it was that of being rather inflam- 
mable and apt to take fire from every sparkling eye. He had been 
somewhat of a rover among the sex on shore, what might he be on 



sea 



? 



She ventured to express her doubt, but he spurned at the 
very idea. " What ! he false to Serafina ! He bow at the shrine 
of another beauty ? Never ! never !" Repeatedly did he bend 
his knee, and smite his breast, and call upon the silver moon to 
witness his sincerity and iruth. 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 351 

He retorted the doubt, " Might not Serafina herself forget 
her plighted faith ? Might not some wealthier rival present him- 
self while he was tossing on the sea ; and, backed by her father's 
wishes, win the treasure of her hand ! " 

The beautiful Serafina raised her white arms between the iron 
bars of the balcony, and, like her lover, invoked the moon to 
testify her vows. Alas ! how little did Fernando know her 
heart. The more her father should oppose, the more would she 
be fixed in faith. Though years should intervene, Fernando on 
his return would find her true. Even should the salt sea swal- 
low him up (and her eyes shed salt tears at the very thought), 
never would she be the wife of another ! Never, never, never ! 
She drew from her finger a ring gemmed with a ruby heart, and 
dropped it from the balcony, a parting pledge of constancy. 

Thus the lovers parted with many a tender word and plighted 
vow. But will they keep those vows ? Perish the doubt ! 
Have they not called the constant moon to witness ? 

With the morning dawn the caravels dropped down the Ta- 
gus, and put to sea. They steered for the Canaries, in those 
days the regions of nautical discovery and romance, and the out- 
posts of the known world, for as yet Columbus had not steered 
his daring barks across the ocean. Scarce had they reached 
those latitudes when they were separated by a violent tempest. 
For many days was the caravel of Don Fernando driven about 
at the mercy of the elements ; all seamanship was baffled, de- 
struction seemed inevitable and the crew were in despair. All 
at once the storm subsided ; the ocean sank into a calm ; the 
clouds which had veiled the face of heaven were suddenly with* 
drawn, and the tempest-tossed mariners beheld a fair and moun- 



352 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

tainous island, emerging aa if by enchantment from the murky 
gloom. They rubbed their eyes and gazed for. a time almost in- 
credulously, yet there lay the island spread out in lovely land- 
scapes, with the late stormy sea laving its shores with peaceful 
billows. 

The pilot of the caravel consulted his maps and charts ; no 
island like the one before him was laid down as existing in those 
parts ; it is true he had lost his reckoning in the late storm, 
but, according to his calculations, he could not be far from the 
Canaries ; and this was not one of that group of islands. The 
caravel now lay perfectly becalmed off the mouth of a river, on 
the banks of which, about a league from the sea, was descried a 
noble city, with lofty walls and towers, and a protecting castle. 

After a time, a stately barge with sixteen oars was seen 
emerging from the river, and approaching the cai-avel. It was 
quaintly carved and gilt ; the oarsmen were clad in antique garb, 
their oars painted of a bright crimson, and they came slowly and 
solemnly, keeping time as they rowed to the cadence of an old 
Spanish ditty. Under a silken canopy in the stern, sat a cava- 
lier richly clad, and over his head was a banner bearing the sa- 
cred emblem of the cross. 

When the barge reached the caravel, the cavalier stepped on 
board. He was tall and gaunt ; with a long Spanish visage, 
moustaches that curled up to his eyes, and a forked beard. He 
wore gauntlets reaching to his elbows, a Toledo blade strutting 
out behind, with a basket hilt, in which he carried his handker- 
chief. His air was lofty and precise, and bespoke indisputably 
the hidalgo. Thrusting out a long spindle leg, he took off a 
huge sombrero, and swaying it until the feather swept the 



THE ADAIiANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 353 

gi'ound, accosted Don Fernando in the old Castilian language 

and with the old Castilian courtesy, welcoming him to the Island 

of the Seven Cities. 

Don Fernando was overwhelmed with astonishment. Could 

this be true ? Had he really been tempest-driven to the very 

land of which he was in quest ? 

It was even so. That very day the inhabitants were holding 

high festival in commemoration of the escape of their ancestors 

from the Moors. The arrival of the caravel at such a juncture 
was considered a good omen, the accomplishment of an ancient 
prophecy through which the island was to be restored to the 
great community of Christendom. The cavalier before him was 
grand-chaiiiberlain, sent by the alcayde to invite him to the fes- 
tivities of the capital. 

Don Fernando could scarce believe that this was not all a 
dream. He made known hrs name, and the object of his voyage. 
The grand chamberlain declared that all was in perfect ac- 
cordance with the ancient prophecy, and that the moment his 
credentials were presented, he would be acknowledged as the 
Adalantado of the Seven Cities. In the mean time the day was 
waning ; the barge was ready to convey him to the land, and 
would as assuredly bring him back. 

Don Fernando's pilot, a veteran of the seas, drew him aside 
and expostulated against his venturing, on the mere word of a 
stranger, to land in a strange barge on an unknown shore 
" Who knows, Senor, what land this is, or what people in- 
habit it?" 

Don Fernando was not to be dissuaded. Had he not be- 
lieved in this island when all the world doubted? Had he not 



354 THE PHAKTOM ISLAND. 

sought it in defiance of storm and tempest, and was he now to 
shrink from its shores when .they lay before him in calm 
weather ? In a word, was not faith the very corner-stone of 
his enterprise ? 

Having arrayed himself, therefore, in gala dress befitting the 
occasion, he took his seat in the barge. The grand chamberlain 
seated himself opposite. The rowers plied their oars, and re- 
newed the mournful old ditty, and the gorgeous but unwieldy 
barge moved slowly through the water. 

The night closed in before they entered the river, and swept 
along past rock and promontory, each guarded by its tower. At 
every post they were challenged by the sentinel. 

" Who goes there ?" 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

" "Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on." 

Entering the harbor they rowed close by an armed galley of 
ancient form. Soldiers with crossbows patrolled the deck. 

" Who goes there ?" 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

" Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on." 

They landed at a broad flight of stone steps, leading up be- 
tween two massive towers, and knocked at the water-gate. A 
sentinel, in ancient steel casque, looked from the barbecan. 

" Who is there ? " 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

" Welcome, Senor Adalantado." 

The gate swung open, grating upon rusty hinges. They en- 
tered between two row sof warriors in Gothic armor, with crossr 
bows, maces, battle-axes, and faces old-fashioned as their armor 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 355 

There were processions through the streets, in commemoration 
of the landing of the seven Bishops and their followers, and bon- 
fires, at which effigies of losel Moors expiated their invasion of 
Christendom by a kind of auto-da-fe. The groups round the 
fires, uncouth in their attire, looked like the fantastic figures 
that roam the streets in Carnival time. Even the dames who 
gazed down from Gothic balconies hung with antique tapestry, re- 
sembled effigies dressed up in Christmas mummeries. Every 
thing, in short, bore the stamp of former ages, as if the world had 
suddenly rolled back for several centuries. Nor was this to be 
wondered at. Had not the Island of the Seven Cities been cut 
ofi" from the rest of the world for several hundred years ; and 
were not these the modes and customs of Gothic Spain before it 
was conquered by the Moors ? 

Arrived at the palace of the alcayde, the grand chamberlain 
knocked at the portal. The porter looked through a wicket, and 
demanded who was there. 

" The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

The portal was thrown wide open. The grand chamberlain 
led the way up a vast, heavily-moulded, marble staircase, and 
into a hall of ceremony, where was the alcayde with several of 
the principal dignitaries of the city, who had a marvellous re- 
semblance, in form and feature, to the quaint figures in old illu- 
minated manuscripts. 

The grand chamberlain stepped forward and announced the 
name and title of the stz-anger guest, and the extraordinary 
nature of his mission. The announcement appeared to create no 
extraordinary emotion or surprise, but to be received as the an- 
ticipated fulfilment of a prophecy. 



856 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

The reception of Don Fernando, however, was profoundly 
gracious, though in the same style of stately courtesy which 
every where prevailed He would have produced his credentials, 
but this was courteously declined. The evening was devoted to 
high festivity ; the following day, when he should enter the port 
with his caravel, would be devoted to business, when the creden- 
tials would be received in due form, and he inducted into office 
as Adalantado of the Seven Cities. 

Don Fernando was now conducted through one of those inter- 
minable suites of apartments, the pride of Spanish palaces, all 
furnished in a style of obsolete magnificence. In a vast saloon 
blazing with tapers was assembled all the aristocracy and fashion 
of the city ; stately dames and cavaliers, the very counterpart of 
the figures in the tapestry which decorated the walls. Fernando 
gazed in silent marvel. It was a reflex of the proud aristocracy 
of Spain in the time of Roderick the Groth. 

The festivities of the evening were all in the style of solemn 
and antiquated ceremonial. There was a dance, but it was as if 
the old tapestry were put in motion, and all the figures moving 
in stately measure about the floor. There was one exception, 
and one that told powerfully upon the susceptible Adalantado. 
The alcayde's daughter — such a ripe, melting beauty ! Her 
dress, it is true, like the dresses of her neighbors, might have 
been worn before the flood, but she had the black Andalusian eye, 
a glance of which, through its long dark lashes, is irresistible. 
Her voice, too, her manner, her undulating movements, all smacked 
of Andalusia, and showed how female charms may be transmitted 
from age to age, and clime to clime, without ever going out of fa- 
shion. Those who know the witchery of the sex, in that most 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 857 

amorous part of amorous old Spain, may judge of the fascination 
to which Don Fernando was exposed, as he joined in the dance 
with one of its most captivating descendants. 

He sat beside her at the banquet ! such an old world feast ! 
such obsolete dainties ! At the head of the table the peacock, 
that bird of state and ceremony, was served up in full plumage 
on a golden dish. As Don Fernando cast his eyes down the 
glittering board, what a vista presented itself of odd heads and 
head-dresses ; of formal bearded dignitaries and stately dames, 
with castellated locks and towering plumes ! Is it to be won- 
dered at that he should turn with delight from these antiquated 
figures to the alcayde's daughter, all smiles and dimples, and 
melting looks and melting accents ? Beside, for I wish to give 
him every excuse in my power, he was in a particularly excitable 
mood from the novelty of the scene before him, from this realiza- 
tion of all his hopes and fancies, and from frequent draughts of 
the wine cup presented to him at every moment by officious pages 
during the banquet. 

In a word — there is no concealing the matter — before the even- 
ing was over, Don Fernando was making love outright to the 
alcayde's daughter. They had wandered together to a moon-lit 
balcony of the palace, and he was charming her ear with one of 
those love ditties with which, in a like balcony, he had serenaded 
the beautiful Serafina. 

The damsel hung her head coyly. " Ah ! Senor, these are 
flattering words ; but you cavaliers, who roam the seas, are un- 
steady as its waves. To-morrow you will be throned in state, 
Adalantado of the Seven Cities; and will think no more of the 
alcayde's daughter, y 



358 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

Don Fernando in the intoxication of the moment called the 
moon to witness his sincerity. As he raised his hand in adjura 
tion, the chaste moon cast a ray upon the ring that sparkled on 
his finger. It caught the damsel's eye. " Signor Adalantado," 
said she archly, " I have no great faith in the moon, but give me 
that ring upon your finger in pledge of the truth of what you 
profess." 

The gallant Adalantado was taken by surprise; there was no 
parrying this sudden appeal . before he had time to reflect, the 
ring of the beautiful Serafina glittered on the finger of the 
alcayde's daughter. 

At this eventful moment the chamberlain approached with 
lofty demeanor, and announced that the barge was waiting to bear 
him back to the caravel. I forbear to relate the ceremonious 
partings with the alcayde and his dignitaries, and the tender 
farewell of the alcayde's daughter. lie took his seat in the 
barge opposite the grand chamberlain. The rowers plied their 
crimson oars in the same slow and stately manner to the cadence 
of the same mournful old ditty. His brain was in a whirl with 
all that he had seen, and his heart now and then gave him a 
twinge as he thought of his temporary infidelity to the beautiful 
Serafina. The barge sallied out into the sea, but no caravel 
was to be seen ; doubtless she had been carried to a distance by 
the current of the river. The oarsmen rowed on ; their monoto- 
nous chant had a lulling effect. A drowsy influence crept over 
Don Fernando. Objects swam before his eyes. The oarsmen 
assumed odd shapes as in a dream. The grand chamberlain grew 
larger and larger, and taller and taller. He took off his huge 
sombrero, and held it over the head of Don Feynando, like an ex- 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 359 

tinguisher over a candle. The latter cowered beneath it ; ho felt 
himself sinking in the socket. 

" Good night ! Seiior Adalantado of the Seven Cities ! " said 
the grand chamberlain. 

The sombrero slowly descended — Don Fernando was extin- 
guished ! 

How long he remained extinct no mortal man can tell. When 
he returned to consciousness, he found himself in a strange cabin, 
surrounded by strangers. He rubbed his eyes, and looked round 
him wildly. Where was he ? — On board of a Portuguese ship, 
bound to Lisbon. How came he there? — He had been taken 
senseless from a wreck drifting about the ocean. 

Don Fernando was more and more confounded and perplexed. 
He recalled, one by one, every thing that had happened to him 
in the Island of the Seven Cities, until he had been extin- 
guished by the sombrero of the grand chamberlain. But what 
had happened to him since ? What had become of his caravel ? 
Was it the wreck of her on which he had been found floating ? 

The people aboiit him could give no information on the 
subject. He entreated them to take him to the Island of the 
Seven Cities, which could not be far off. Told them all that 
had befallen him there. That he had but to land to be received 
as Adalantado ; when he would reward them magnificently for 
their services. 

They regarded his words as the ravings of delirium, and in 
their honest solicitude for the restoration of his reason, adminis- 
tered such rough remedies that he was fain to drop the subject 
and observe a cautious taciturnity. 

At length they arrived in the Tagus, and anchored before 



360 THE PHANTOM ISLAim. 

the famous city of Lisbon. Don Fernando sprang joyfully on 
shore, and hastened to his ancestral mansion, A strange porter 
opened the door, who knew nothing of him or of his family ; no 
people of the name had inhabited the house for many a year. 

He sought the mansion of Don Kamiro. He approached the 
balcony beneath which he had bidden farewell to Serafina. Did 
his eyes deceive him ? No ! There was Serafina herself among 
the flowers in the balcony. He raised his arms toward her with 
an exclamation of rapture. She east upon him a look of indig- 
nation, and. hastily retiring, closed the casement with a slam 
that testified her displeasure. 

Could she have heard of his flirtation with the alcayde's 
daughter ? But that was mere transient gallantry. A mo- 
ment's interview would dispel every doubt of his constancy. 

He rang at the door ; as it was opened by the porter he 
rushed up stairs ; sought the well known chamber, and threw 
himself at the feet of Serafina. She started back with affright, 
and took refuge in the arms of a youthful cavalier. 

" What mean you, Senor," cried the latter, "by this intrusion? " 

" What right have you to ask the que&tion ? " demanded Don 
Fernando fiercely. 

" The right of an affianced suitor !" 

Don Fernando started and turned pale. " Oh, Serafina ! 
Serafiua !" cried he, in a tone of agony; "is this thy plighted 
constancy?" 

" Serafina ? What mean you by Serafina, Seiior ? If this 
be the lady you intend, her name is Maria." 

'• May I not believe my senses ? May I not believe my 
heart ? " cried Don Fernando. " Is not this Serafina Alvarez, 



THE AD AL ANT ADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 361 

the original of yon portrait, which, less fickle than herself, still 
smiles on me from the wall ? " 

" Holy Virgin ! " cried the young lady, casting her eyes upon 
the portrait. " He is talking of my great-grandmother ! " 

An explanation ensued, if that could be called an explana- 
tion, which plunged the unfortunate Fernando into tenfold per- 
plexity. If he might believe his eyes, he saw before him his 
beloved Serafina ; if he might believe his ears, it was merely her 
hereditary form and features, perpetuated in the person of her 
great-granddaughter. 

His brain began to spin. He sought the office of the Minis- 
ter of Marine, and made a report of his expedition, and of the 
Island of the Seven Cities, which he had so fortunately discov- 
ered. Nobody knew any thing of such an expedition, or such 
an island. He declared that he had undertaken the enterprise 
under a formal contract with the crown, and had received a regu- 
lar commission, constituting him Adalantado. This must be 
matter of record, and he insisted loudly, that the books of the 
department should be consulted. The wordy strife at length 
attracted the attention of an old gray-headed clerk, who sat 
perched on a high stool, at a high desk, with iron-rimmed spec- 
tacles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, copying records into an 
enormous folio. He had wintered and summered in the depart 
ment for a great part of a century, until he had almost grown to 
be a piece of the desk at which he sat ; his memory was a mere 
index of official facts and documents, and his brain was little 
better than red tape and parchment. After peering down for a 
time from his lofty perch, and ascertaining the matter in contro- 
versy, he put his pen behind his ear, and descended. He re- 
16 



362 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

membered to have heard something from his predecessor about 
an expedition of the tind in question, but then it had sailed dur- 
ing the reign of Dom loam II., and he had been dead at least a 
hundred years. To put the matter beyond dispute, however, the 
archives of the Torre do Tombo, that sepulchre of old Portu- 
guese documents, were diligently searched, and a record was 
found of a contract between the crown and one Fernando do 
Ulmo, for the discovery of the Island of the Seven Cities, and 
of a commission secured to him as Adalantado of the country he 
might discover. 

" There ! " cried Don Fernando, triumphantly, " there you 
have proof, before your own eyes, of what I have said. I am the 
Fernando de Ulmo specified in that record. I have discovered 
the Island of the Seven Cities, and am entitled to be Adalan- 
tado, according to contract." 

The story of Don Fernando had certainly, what is pronounced 
the best of historical foundation, documentary evidence ; but 
when a man, in the bloom of youth, talked of events that had 
taken place above a century previously, as having happened to 
himself, it is no wonder that he was set down for a madman. 

The old clerk looked at him from above and below his spec- 
tacles, shrugged his shoulders, stroked his chin, reascended his 
lofty stool, took the pen from behind his ears, and resumed his 
daily and eternal task, copying records into the fiftieth volume 
of a series of gigantic folios. The other clerks winked at each 
other shrewdly, and dispersed to their several places, and poor 
Don Fernando, thus left to himself, flung out of the oflGice, almost 
driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 

In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively repaired to the 



THE ADALANTADd OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 363 

mausion of Alvarez, but it was barred against him. To break 
the delusion under which the youth apparently labored, and to 
convince him that the Serafina about whom he raved was really 
dead, he was conducted to her tomb. There she lay, a stately 
matron, cut out in alabaster ; and there lay her husband beside 
iier ; a portly cavalier, in armor ; and there knelt, on each side, 
the effigies of a numerous progeny, proving that she had been a 
fruitful vine. Even the very monument gave evidence of the 
lapse of time ; the hands of her husband, folded as if in prayer, 
had lost their fingers, and the face of the once lovely Serafina 
was without a nose. 

Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indignation at behold- 
ing this monumental proof of the inconstancy of his mistress ; but 
who could expect a mistress to remain constant during a whole 
century of absence ? And what right had he to rail about con- 
stancy, after what had passed between himself and the alcayde's 
daughter 1 The unfortunate cavalier performed one pious act 
of tender devotion ; he had the alabaster nose of Serafina re- 
stored by a skilful statuary, and then tore himself from the 
tomb. 

He could now no longer doubt the fact that, somehow or 
other, he had skipped over a whole century, during the night he 
had spent at the Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was now as 
complete a stranger in his native city, as if he had never been 
there. A thousand times did he wish himself back to that won- 
derful island, with its antiquated banquet halls, where he had 
been so courteously received ; and now that the once young and 
beautiful Serafina was nothing but a great-grandmother in mar- 
ble, with generations of descendants, a thousand times would he 



364 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 

recall the melting black eyes of the alcayde's daughter, who 
doubtless, like himself, was still flourishing in fresh juvenility, 
and breathe a secret wish that he were seated by her side. 

He would at once have set on foot another expedition, at his 
own expense, to cruise in search of the sainted island, but his 
means were exliausted. He endeavored to rouse others to the 
enterprise, setting forth the certainty of profitable results, of 
which his own experience furnished such unquestionable proof. 
Alas ! no one would give faith to his tale ; but looked upon it as 
the feverish dream of a shipwrecked man. He persisted in his 
efforts ; holding forth in all places and all companies, until he 
became an object of jest and jeer to the light-minded, who mis- 
took his earnest enthusiasm for a proof of insanity ; and the 
very children in the streets bantered him with the title of " The 
Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 

Finding all efforts in vain, in his native city of Lisbon, he 
took shipping for the Canaries, as being nearer the latitude of 
his former cruise, and inhabited by people given to nautical ad- 
venture. Here he found ready listeners to his story ; for the 
old pilots and mariners of those parts were notorious island- 
hunters, and devout believers in all the wonders of the seas. 
Indeed, one and all treated his adventure as a common occur- 
rence, and turning to each other, with a sagacious nod of the 
head, observed, " He has been at the Island of St. Brandan." 

They then went on to inform him of that great marvel and 
enigma of the ocean ; of its repeated appearance to the inhabit- 
ants of their islands ; and of the many but ineffectual expeditious 
that had been made in search of it. They took him to a prom- 
ontory of the island of Palraa, whence the shadowy St. Brandan 



THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 865 

had oftencst been descried, and they pointed out the very tract 
in the west where its mountains had been seen. 

Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. He had no Ion 
ger a doubt that this mysterious and fugacious island must ba 
the same with that of the Seven Cities ; and that some super- 
natural influence connected with it had operated upon himself, 
and made the events of a night occupy the space of a century. 

He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the islanders to another 
attempt at discovery ; they had given up the pbantom island as . 
indeed inaccessible. Fernando, however, was not to be discour- 
aged. The idea wore itself deeper and deeper in his rnind, until 
it became the engrossing subject of his thoughts and object of 
his being. Every morning he would repair to the promontory 
of Palma, and sit there throughout the livelong day, in hopes 
of seeing the fairy mountains of St. Brandan peering above the 
horizon ; every evening he returned to his home, a disappointed 
man, but ready to resume his post on the following morning. 

His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray in his ineffect- 
ual attempt : and was at length found dead at his post. His 
grave is still shown in the island of Palma, and a cross is erected 
on the spot where he used to sit and look out upon the sea, in 
hopes of the reappearance of the phantom island. 

Note. — For various particulars concerning the Island of St. 
Brandan and the Island of tJie Seven Cities^ those ancient* 
problems of the ocean, the curious reader is referred to articles 
under those heads in the Appendix to the Life of Columbus. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBM. 

I HAVE already given to the world some anecdotes of a smnmcr'a 
residence in the old Moorish palace of the Alhambra. It was a 
dreamy sojourn, during which I lived, as it were, in the midst of 
an Arabian tale, and shut my eyes as much as possible to every 
thing that should call me back to every day life. If there is 
any country in Europe where one can do so. it is among these 
magnificent but semi-barbaric ruins of poor, wild, legendary, ro- 
mantic Spain. In the silent and deserted halls of the Alham- 
bra, surrounded with the insignia of regal sway, and the vivid, 
though dilapidated traces of Oriental luxury, I was in the strong- 
hold of Moorish story, where every thing spoke of the palmy 
days of Granada when under the dominion of the crescent. 

Much of the literature of Spain turns upon the wars of the 
Moors and Christians, and consists of traditional ballads and 
tales or romances, about the " buenas andanzas," and " grandes 
hechos," the " lucky adventures," and " great exploits" of the 
warriors of yore. It is worthy of remark, that many of these 
lays which sing of prowess and magnanimity in war, and tender- 
ness and fidelity in love, relate as well to Moorish as to Spanish 



KECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBKA. 367 

cavaliers. The lapse of peaceful centuries has extinguished the 
rancor of ancient hostility ; and the warriors of Granada, once 
the objects of bigot detestation, are now often held up by Span- 
ish poets as mirrors of chivalric virtue. 

None have been the theme of higher eulogy than the illus- 
trious line of the Abencerrages, who in the proud days of Mos- 
lem domination were the soul of every thing noble and chival- 
ric. The veterans of the family sat in the royal council, and 
were foremost in devising heroic enterprises to carry dismay 
into the Christian territories ; and what the veterans devised the 
young men of the name were foremost to execute. In all ad- 
ventures, enterprises, and hair-breadth hazards, the Abencerrages 
were sure to win the brightest laurels. In the tilt and tourney, 
in the riding at the ring, the daring bull fight, and all other rec- 
reations which bore an affinity to war, the Abencerrages carried 
o£f the palm. None equalled them for splendor of array, for 
noble bearing, and glorious horsemanship. Their open-handed 
munificence made them the idols of the people ; their magna- 
nimity and perfect faith gained the admiration of the high- 
minded. Never did they decry the merits of a rival, nor betray 
the confidings of a friend ; and the word of an Abencerrage was 
a guarantee never to be doubted. 

And then their devotion to the fair ! Never did Moorish 
beauty consider the fame of her charms established, until she 
had an Abencerrage for a lover ; and never did an Abencerrage 
prove recreant to his vows. Lovely Granada ! City of delights ' 
Who ever bore the favors of thy dames more proudly on their 
casques, or championed them more gallantly in the chivalrous 
tilts of the Vivarambla ? Or who ever made thy moon-lit bal- 



368 EECOLLECTIONS OF THE ATJTAArRKA. 

conies, thy gardens of myrtles and roses, of oranges, citrons, and 
pomegranates, respond to more tender serenades ? 

Such were the fancies I used to conjure up as I sat in the 
beautiful hall of the Abencerrages, celebrated in the tragic story 
of that devoted race, where thirty-six of its bravest cavaliers 
were treacherously sacrificed to appease the jealous fears of a 
tyrant. The fountain which once ran red with their blood, 
throws up a sparkling jet, and spreads a dewy freshness through 
the hall ; but a deep stain on the marble pavement is still pointed 
out as a sanguinary record of the massacre. The truth of the 
record has been called in question, but I regarded it with the 
same determined faith with which I contemplated the stains of 
Rizzio's blood on the floor of the palace of Holyrood. I thank 
no one for enlightening my credulity on points of poetical belief. 
It is like robbing the statue of Memnon of its mysterious music. 
Dispel historical illusions, and there is an end to half the charms 
of travelling. 

The hall of the Abencerrages is connected moreover with the 
recollection of one of the sweetest evenings and sweetest scenes 
I ever enjoyed in Spain. It was a beautiful summer evening, 
when the moon shone down into the Court of Lions, lighting up 
its sparkling fountain. I was seated with a few companions 
in the hall in question, listening to those traditional ballads 
and romances in which the Spaniards delight. They were sung 
to the accompaniment of the guitar, by one of the most gifted 
and fascinating beings that I ever met with even among the fas- 
cinating daughters of Spain. She was young and beautiful ; and 
light and ethereal ; full of fire, and spirit, and pure enthusiasm. 
She wore the fanciful Andalusian dress ; touched the guitar with 



KECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMEEA. 369 

speaking eloquence ; improvised with wanderful facility ; and, 
as slie became excited by her theme, or by the rapt attention of 
her auditors, would pour forth in the richest and most melodious 
strains, a succession of couplets, full of striking description, or 
stirring narrative, and composed, as I was assured, at the mo- 
ment. Most of these were suggested by the place, and related 
to the ancient glories of Granada, and the prowess of her chiv- 
air}'. The Abencerrages were her favorite heroes ; she felt a 
woman's admiration of their gallant courtesy, and high-soulcd 
honor ; and it was touching and inspiring to hear the praises of 
that generous but devoted race, chanted in this fated ball of their 
calamity, by the lips of Spanish beauty. 

Among the subjects of which she treated, was a tale of Mos- 
lem honor, and old-fashioned Spanish courtesy, which made a 
strong impression on me. She disclaimed all merit of inven- 
tion, however, and said she had merely dilated into verse a popu- 
lar tradition ; and, indeed, I have since found the main facts in- 
serted at the end of Conde's History of the Domination of the 
Arabs, and the story itself embodied in the form of an episode 
in the Diana of Montemayor. From these sources I have drawn 
it forth, and endeavored to shape it according to my recollection 
of the version of the beautiful minstrel ; but alas ! what can 
supply the want of that voice, that look, that form, that action, 
which gave magical effect to her chant, and held every one rapt 
in breathless admiration ! Should this mere travestie of her in- 
spired numbers ever meet her eye, in her stately abode at Gra- 
nada, may it meet with that indulgence which belongs to her be- 
nignant nature. Happy should I be, if it could awaken in her 
bosom one kind recollection of the stranger, for whose gratifica- 

16* 



310 , EECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBKA. 

tion she did not think it beneath her to exert those fascinating 
powers, in the moon-lit halls of the Alhambra. 



THE ABENCERKAGE. 

On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the mountains of 
Ronda, stands the castle of Allora ; now a mere ruin, infested 
by bats and owlets ; but in old times, a strong border-hold which 
kept watch upon the warlike kingdom of Granada, and held the 
Moors in cheek. It was a post always confided to some well-tried 
commander, and at the time of which we treat, was held by 
Roderigo de Narvaez, alcayde, or military governor of Anti- 
quera. It was a frontier post of his command ; but he passed 
most of his time there, because its situation on the borders gave 
frequent opportunity for those adventurous exploits in which the 
Spanish chivalry delighted. \^ 

He was a veteran, famed among both Moors and Christians, 
not only for deeds of arms, but for that magnanimous courtesy 
which should ever be entwined with the stern virtues of the 
soldier. 

His garrison consisted of fifty chosen men, well appointed and 
well-mounted, with which he maintained such vigilant watch that 
nothing could escape his eye. While some remained on guard in the 
castle, he would sally forth with others, prowling about the high- 
ways, the paths and defiles of the mountains by day and night, 
and now and then making a daring foray into the very Vega of 
&ranada. 



THE ABENCEKKAGE. 371 

On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when the moon was 
in the full, and the freshness of the evening breeze had tempered 
the heat of day, the alcayde, with nine of his cavaliers, was going 
the rounds of the mountains in quest of adventures. They rode 
silently and cautiously, for it was a night to tempt others abroad, 
and they might be overheard by Moorish scout or traveller ; they 
kept along ravines and hollow ways, moreover, lest they should 
be betrayed by the glittering of the moon upon their armor, 
Coming to a fork in the road, the alcayde ordered five of his 
cavaliers to take one of the branches, while he, with the remaining 
four, would take the other. Should either party be in danger, 
the blast of a horn was to be the signal for succor. The party 
of five had not proceeded far, when, in passing through a defile, 
they heard the voice of a man singing. Concealing themselves 
among trees, they awaited his approach. The moon, which left 
the grove in shadow, shone full upon his person, as he slowly ad- 
vanced, mounted on a dapple gray steed of powerful frame and 
generous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned. He was a Moor- 
ish cavalier of noble demeanor and graceful carriage, arrayed in a 
marlota, or tunic, and an albornoz of crimson damask fringed 
with gold. His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of striped 
silk and cotton, bordered with a golden fringe ; at his girdle hung 
a Damascus scimitar, with loops and tassels of silk and gold. On 
his left arm he bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped 
a long double-pointed lance. Apparently dreaming of no danger 
he sat negligently on his steed, gazing on the moon, and singing, 
with a sweet and manly voice, a Moorish love ditty. 

Just opposite the grove where the cavaliers were concealed, 
the horse turned aside to drink at a small fountain in a rock be- 



372 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBEA. 

side tlie road. His rider threw the reins on his neck to let him 
drink at his ease, and continued his song. 

The cavaliers whispered with each other. Charmed with the 
gallant and gentle appearance of the Moor, they determined not to 
harm, but capture him; an easy task, as they supposed, in his 
negligent mood. Rushing forth, therefore, they thought to sur- 
round, and take him by surprise. Never were men more mis- 
taken. To gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace hia 
buckler, and couch his lance, was the work of an instant, and there 
he sat, fixed like a castle in his saddle. 

The cavaliers checked their steeds, and reconnoitred him 
warily, loth to come to an encounter which must prove fatal to 
him. 

The Moor now held a parley. "If ye be true knights, and 
sesk for honorable fame, come on singly, and I will meet each in 
succession ; if ye be mere lurkers of the road, intent on spoil, 
come all at once, and do your worst." 

The cavaliers communed together for a moment, when one 
parting from the others, advanced. " Although no law of chivalry," 
said he, " obliges us to risk the loss of a prize, when fairly in our 
power, yet we willingly grant as a courtesy what we might refuse 
as a right. Valiant Moor, defend thyself ! " 

So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, couched his lance, 
and putting spurs to his horse, made at the stranger. The latter 
met him in mid career, transpierced him with his lance, and threw 
him from his saddle. A second and a third succeeded, but were 
unhorsed with equal facility, and thrown to the earth, severely 
wounded. The remaining two, seeing their comrades thus rouf^h- 
ly treated, forgot all compact of courtesy, and charged both at 



THE ABENCEEKAGE. 373 

once upon the Moor. He parried the thrust of one, but was 
wounded by the other in the thigh, and in the shock and confusion 
dropped his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he pre« 
tended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Having drawn the twc 
cavaliers some distance from the spot, he wheeled short about, 
with one of those dexterous movements for which the Moorish 
horsemen were renowned ; passed swiftly between them, swung 
himself down from his saddle, so as to catch up his lance, then, 
lightly replacing himself, turned to renew the combat. 

Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if just issued 
from his tent, one of the cavaliers put his lips to his horn, and 
blew a blast, that soon brought the Alcayde and his four compan- 
ions to the spot. 

Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended on the earth, 
and two others hotly engaged with the Moor, was struck with ad- 
miration, and coveted a contest with so accomplished a warrior. 
Interfering in the fight, he called upon his followers to desist, and 
with courteous words invited the Moor to a more equal combat. 
The challenge was readily accepted. For some time the contest was 
doubtful, and the Alcayde had need of all his skill and strength 
to ward off the blows of his antagonist. The Moor, however, ex- 
hausted by previous fighting, and by loss of blood, no longer sat 
his horse firmly, nor managed him with his wonted skill. Collect- 
ing all his strength for a last assault, he rose in his stirrups, and 
made a violent thrust with his lance ; the Alcayde received it upon 
his shield, and at the same time wounded the Moor in the right arm ; 
then closing, in the shock, grasped him in his arms, dragged him 
from his saddle, and fell with him to the earth : when putting hia 
knee upon his breast, and his dagger to his throat, " Cavalier," ex- 



374 EECOLLECTIOIS'S OF THE ALHAMBEA. 

claimed he, " render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is in my 
hands ! " 

" Kill me, rather," replied the Moor, " for death would be less 
grievous than loss of liberty." 

The Alcayde, however, with the clemency of the truly brave, 
assisted him to rise, ministered to his wounds with his own hands, 
and had him conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. 
His wounds in a few days were nearly cured ; but the deepest had 
been inflicted on his spirit. He was constantly buried in a pro- 
found melancholy. 

The Alcayde, who had conceived a great regard for him, treat- 
ed him more as a friend than a captive, and tried in every way to 
cheer him, but in vain ; he was always sad and moody, and, when 
on the battlements of the castle, would keep his eyes turned to the 
south, with a fixed and wistful gaze. 

'' How is this ? " exclaimed the Alcayde, reproachfully, " that 
you, who were so hardy and fearless in the field, should lose all 
spirit when a captive. If any secret grief preys on your heart, 
confide it to me, as to a friend, and I promise on the faith of a 
cavalier, that you shall have no cause to repent the disclosure." 

The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the Alcayde. " Noble 
cavalier," said he, " that I am cast down in spirit, is not from my 
wounds, which are slight, nor from my captivity, for your kind- 
ness has robbed it of all gloom ; nor fi-om my defeat, for to be 
conquered by so accomplished and renowned a cavalier, is no dis- 
grace. But to explain the cause of my grief, it is necessary to 
give some particulars of my story ; and this I am moved to do 
by the sympathy you have manifested toward me, and the mag- 
nanimity that shines through all your actions. 



THE ABENCEREAGE. . 875 

" Know, then, that my name is Abendavaez, and that I am 
of the noble but unfortunate line of the Abencerrages. You 
have doubtless heard of the destruction that fell upon our race. 
Charged with treasonable designs, of which they were entirely in- 
nocent, many of them were beheaded, the rest banished ; so that 
not an Abencerrage was permitted to remain in Granada, excepting 
my fjither and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, even to the 
satisfaction of their persecutors. It was decreed, however, that, 
should they have children, the sons should be educated at a dis- 
tance from Grranada, and the daughters should be married out of 
the kingdom. 

" Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while yet an infant, 
to be reared in the fortress of Cartama, the Alcayde of which was 
an ancient friend of my father. He had no children, and received 
me into his family as his own child, treating me with the kind- 
ness and affection of a father ; and I grew up in the belief that ho 
really was such. A few years afterward, his wife gave birth to a 
daughter, but his tenderness toward me continued undiminished. 
I thus grew up with Xarisa, for so the infant daughter of the 
Alcayde was called, as her own brother. I beheld her charms 
unfolding, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, each 
moment disclosing fresh sweetness and beauty, and thought the 
growing passion which I felt for her was mere fraternal affection. 

" At length one day I accidentally overheard a conversation 
between the Alcayde and his confidential domestic, of which I 
found myself the subject. 

" In this I learnt the secret of my real parentage, which the Al 
cayde had withheld from me as long as possible, through reluc- 
tance to inform me of my being of a proscribed and unlucky race. 



376 EECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBEA. 

It was time now, he thouglit, to apprise me of tlie truth, that 1 
might adopt a career in life. 

" I retired without letting it be perceived that I had over- 
heard the conversation. The intelligence it conveyed, would 
have overwhelmed me at an earlier period ; but now the intima- 
tion that Xarisa was not my sister, operated like magic. In an 
instant the brotherly affection with which my heart at times had 
throbbed almost to excess, was transformed into ardent love. 

" I sought Xarisa in the garden, where I found her in a bower 
of jessamines, arranging her beautiful hair in the mirror of a 
crystal fountain. I ran to her with open arms, and was received 
with a sister's embraces ; upbraiding me for leaving her so long 
alone. 

*' We seated ourselves by the fountain, and I hastened to reveal 
the secret conversation I had overheard. 

" ' Alas ! " cried she, ' then our happiness is at an end ! ' 

" ' How ! ' cried I, ' wilt thou cease to love me because I am 
not thy brother ? ' 

" 'Alas, no ! ' replied she, gently withdrawing from my em- 
brace, * but when it is once made known we are not brother and 
sister, we shall no longer be permitted to be thus 'always to- 
gether.' 

" In fact, from that moment our intercourse took a new cha- 
racter. We met often at the fountain among the jessaminey, but 
Xarisa no longer advanced with open arms to meet me. She 
became reserved and silent, and would blush, and cast down her 
eyes, when I seated myself beside her. My heart became a prey 
to the thousand doubts and fears that ever attend upon true love; 
Restless and uneasy, I looked back with regret to our unreserved 



THE ABENCEEKAGE. 377 

intercourse when we supposed ourselves brother and sister ; yet 
I would not have had the relationship true, for the world. 

" While matters were in this state between us, an order came 
from the King of Granada for the Alcayde to take command of 
the fortress of Coyn, on the Christian frontier. He prepared to 
remove, with all his family, but signified that I should remain at 
Cartama. I declared that I could not be parted from Xarisa. 
* That is the very cause,' said he, ' why I leave thee behind. It 
is time, Abendaraez, thou shouldst know the secret of thy birth. 
Thou art no son of mine, neither is Xarisa thy sister.' ' I know 
it all,' exclaimed I, ' and I love her with tenfold the affection of a 
brother. You have brought us up together ; you have made us 
necessary to each other's happiness ; our hearts have entwined 
themselves with our growth ; do not now tear them asunder. Fill 
up the measure of your kindness ; be indeed a father to me, by 
giving me Xarisa for my wife.' 

" The brow of the Alcayde darkened as I spoke. ' Have I 
then been deceived ? ' said he. ' Have those nurtured in my very 
bosom, been conspiring against me ? Is this your return for my 
paternal tenderness ? — to beguile the affections of my child, and 
teach her to deceive her father ? It would have been cause enough 
to refuse thee the hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a pro- 
scribed race, who can never approach the walls of Granada ; this, 
however, I might have passed over; but never will I give my 
daughter to a man who has endeavored to win her from me by de- 
ception.' 

" All my attempts to vindicate myself and Xarisa were una- 
vailing. I retired in anguish from his presence, and seeking Xa- 
risa, told her of this blow, which was worse than death to me, 



378 KECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBKA. 

' Xarisa,' said I, ' we part for ever ! I shall never see thee more ! 
Thy father will guard thee rigidly. Thy beauty and his wealth 
will soon attract some happier rival, and I shall be forgotten ! ' 

" Xarisa reproached my want of faith, and promised eternal 
constancy. I still doubted and desponded, until, moved by my 
anguish and despair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals 
made, we parted, with a promise on her part to send me word 
from Coyn, should her father absent himself from the fortress. 
The very day after our secret nuptials, I beheld the whole train 
of the Alcayde depart from Cartama, nor would he admit me to 
his presence, nor permit me to bid farewell to Xarisa. I remained 
at Cartama, somewhat pacified in spirit by our secret bond of 
union ; but every thing around fed my passion, and reminded me 
of Xarisa. I saw the window at which I had so often beheld her. 
I wandered through the apartment she had inhabited ; the cham- 
ber in which she had slept. I visited the bower of jessamines, 
and lingered beside the fountain in which she had delighted. 
Every thing recalled her to my imagination, and filled my heart 
with melancholy. 

" At length, a confidential servant arrived with a letter from 
her, informing me, that her father was to depart that day for 
Granada, on a short absence, inviting me to hasten to Coyn, de- 
scribing a secret portal at which I should apply, and the signal 
by which I would obtain admittance. 

" If ever you have loved, most valiant Alcayde, you may 
judge of my trransport. That very night I arrayed myself in 
gallant attire, to pay due honor to my bride ; and arming myself 
against any casual attack, issued forth privately from Cartama. 
You know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I find myself 



THE ABENCEEKAGE. 379 

instead of a happy bridegroom in the nuptial bower of Coyn, van- 
quished, wounded, and a prisoner within the walls of Allora, The 
term of absence of the father of Xarisa is nearly expired. With- 
in three days he will return to Coyn, and our meeting will no 
longer be possible. Judge, then, whether 1 grieve without cause 
and whether I may not well be excused for showing impatience 
under confinement." 

Don Rodrigo was greatly m'oved by this recital ; for, though 
more used to rugged war than scenes of amorous softness, he was 
of a kind and generous nature. 

" Abendaraez," said he, " I did not seek thy confidence to gra- 
tify an idle curiosity. It grieves me much that the good fortune 
which delivered thee into my hands, should have marred so fair 
an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, to return pri- 
soner to my castle, within three days, and I will grant thee per- 
mission to accomplish thy nuptials." 

The Abencerrage, in a transport of gratitude, would have 
thrown himself at his feet, but the Alcayde prevented him. Call- 
ing in his cavaliers, he took Abendaraez by the right hand, 
in their presence, exclaiming solemnly, " You promise, on the 
faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of Allora within three 
days, and render yourself my prisoner?" And the Abencerrage 
said, " I promise." 

Then said the Alcayde, "Go! and may good fortune attend 
you. If you require any safeguard, I and my cavaliers are 
ready to be your companions." 

The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the Alcayde, in grateful 
acknowledgment. " Give me," said he, " my own armor, and 
my steed, and I require no guard. It is not likely that I shall 
again meet with so valorous a foe." 



380 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBKA. 

The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp of th( dapple 
gray steed resounded over the drawbridge, and immediatel/ after- 
wards, the light clatter of hoofs along the road bespoke the fleet- 
ness with which the jouthful lover hastened to his bride. It was 
deep night when the Moor arrived at the castle of Coyn. He 
silently and cautiously walked his panting steed under its dark 
walls, and having nearly passed round them, came to the portal 
denoted by Xarisa. He paused, looked round to see that he was 
not observed, and knocked three times with the butt of his lance. 
In a little while the portal was timidlv unclosed by the duenna of 
Xarisa. " Alas ! Sefior," said she, " what has detained you thus 
long ? Every night have I watched for you ; and my lady is sick 
at heart with doubt and anxiety." 

The Abencerrage hung his lance, and shield, and scimitar 
against the wall, and followed the duenna, with silent steps, up a 
winding staircase, to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be 
the attempt to describe the raptures of that meeting. Time flew 
too swiftly, and the Abencerrage had nearly forgotten, until too 
late, his promise to return a prisoner to the Alcayde of Allora. 
The recollection of it came to him with a pang, and woke him 
from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw his altered looks, and heard 
with alarm his stifled sighs ; but her countenance brightened when 
she heard the cause. " Let not thy spirit be cast down," said 
she, throwing her white arms around him. " I have the keys of 
my father's treasures ; send ransom more than enough to satisfy 
the Christian, and remain with me." 

" No," said Abendaraez, " I have given my word to return in 
person, and like a true knight, must fulfil my promise. After 
that, fortune must do with me as it pleases." 



THE ABENCEKEAGE. 381 

" Then," said Xarisa, " I will accompany thee. Never shalt 
thou return a prisoner, and I remain at liberty." 

The Abencerrage was transported with joy at this new proof 
of devotion in his beautiful bride. All preparations were speed- 
ily made for their departure. Xarisa mounted behind the Moor, 
on his powerful steed ; they left the castle walls before day- 
break,. nor did they pause, until they arrived at the gate of the 
castle of Allora. 

Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage supported the steps 
of his trembling bride, who remained closely veiled, into the 
presence of Rodrigo de Narvaez. " Behold, valiant Alcayde ! " 
said he, " the way in which an Abencerrage keeps his word. I 
promised to return to thee a prisoner, but I deliver two captives 
into thy power. Behold Xarisa, and judge whether I grieved 
without reason, over the loss of such a treasure. Receive us as 
thine own, for I confide my life and her honor to thy hands." 

The Alcayde was lost in admiration of the beauty of the 
lady, and the noble spirit of the Moor. " I know not," said he, 
" which of you surpasses the other ] but I know that my castle is 
graced and honored by your presence. Consider it your own, 
while you deign to reside with me." 

For several days, the lovers remained at Allora, happy in 
each other's love, and in the friendship of the Alcayde. The 
latter wrote a letter to the Moorish king of Granada, relating 
the whole event, extolling the valor and good faith of the Aben- 
cerrage, and craving for him the royal countenance. 

The king was moved by the story, and pleased with an oppor- 
tunity of showing attention to the wishes of a gallant and chival- 
rous enemy ; for though he had often suffered from the prowes.s 



382 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAIMBEA. 

of Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, he admired his heroic character 
Calling the Alcayde of Coyn into his presence, he gave him the 
letter to read. The Alcayde turned pale, and trembled with 
rage, on the perusal. " Restrain thine anger," said the king ; 
" there is nothing that the Alcayde of Allora could ask, that I 
would not grant, if in my power. Go thou to Allora ; pardon 
thy children ; take them to thy home. I receive this Abencer- 
rage into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap benefits 
upon you all." 

The kindling ire of the Alcayde was suddenly appeased. He 
hastened to Allora ; and folded his children to his bosom, who 
would have fallen at his feet Rodrigo de Narvaez gave liberty 
to his prisoner without ransom, demanding merely a promise of 
his friendship. He accompanied the youthful couple and their 
father to Coyn, where their nuptials were celebrated with great 
rejoicings. When the festivities were over, Don Rodrigo re- 
turned to his fortress of Allora. 

After his departure, the Alcayde of Coyn addressed his chil- 
dren : " To your hands," said he, " I confide the disposition of 
my wealth. One of the first things I charge you, is not to for- 
get the ransom you owe to the Alcayde of Allora. His mag- 
nanimity you can never repay, but you can prevent it from 
wronging him of his just dues. Grive him, moreover, your entire 
friendship, for he merits it fully, though of a different faith." 

The Abencerrage thanked him for his proposition, which so 
truly accorded with his own wishes. He took a large sum of 
gold, and inclosed it in a rich coffer ; and, on his own part, sent 
six beautiful horses, superbly caparisoned ; with six shields and 
lauces, mounted and embossed with gold. The beautiful Xarisa, 



THE ABENCEKAGE. 



383 



at the same time, wrote a letter to the Alcayde, filled with ex- 
pressions of gratitude and friendship, and sent him a box of fra- 
grant cypress wood, containing linen, of the finest quality, for his 
person. The Alcayde disposed of the present in a characteris- 
tic manner. The horses and armor he shared among the cava- 
liers who had accompanied him on the night of the skirmish. 
The box of cypress wood and its contents he retained, for the 
sake of the beautiful Xarisa ; and sent her, by the hands of the 
messenger, the sum of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to 
receive it as a wedding present. This courtesy and magnanimi- 
ty raised the character of the Alcayde Rodrigo de Narvaez still 
higher in the estimation of the Moors, who extolled him as a 
perfect mirror of chivalric virtue ; and from that time forward, 
there was a continual exchange of good offices between them. 

Those who would read the foregoing story decked out with 
poetic grace in the pure Castilian, let them seek it in the Diana 
of Montemayor. 




